Author: Kathy Scott

Sunday April 1st

As planned, we were away by 6am just as the sun rose over the hills, for the long trip to Puerto Galera. Paul warned me that anchoring might prove tricky there. An Easter regatta was taking place in the area, so all the mooring buoys would be taken up by participants. Furthermore it could be crowded in the anchorage area, which might have coral on the sea bed (neither of which possibilities filled me with joy). No chocolate eggs for us that Easter Day; in fact there was nothing to indicate that it was Easter at all apart from notes on the calendar. Our Easter Sunday was spent mostly at sea; a sea with increasingly high waves that created a bucking and rolling motion and was very generous with its spray! Paul got the Iridium phone working to enable us to send and receive messages and calls during our Pacific voyage later this year, while I stayed below reading, writing and typing. We didn’t have a guide book for the Philippines, but an internet search informed me that Puerto Galera means ‘the port of Galleons’ in Spanish, dating from the Spanish settlement during the 16th century, and the town proudly boasts an entry in the ‘Club of the Most Beautiful Bays of the World’. It also has a lively nightlife and is a popular resort for divers and snorkelers. One of the more interesting facts that caught my eye is that remote parts of its mountainsides are home to indigenous tribes which have virtually no contact with the outside world.

Anchoring proved to be thankfully easy when we arrived. On our second attempt we were secure in 13 metres of water in a coral-free spot with no other boats around, in the lee of abundant forested hills dotted with  holiday dwellings. I was fascinated to see a small low-flying aircraft coming in to land over the water at the nearby airport just after we’d anchored. We watched it land and take off several times during our time there.

Keen to see the yacht club we had heard about from other yacht owners before it got too dark, we lowered the dinghy to go ashore. It was quite some distance away and the water was murky so we didn’t see the rocks near the surface as we neared the jetty where other dinghies were tied up. Our dinghy bounced on them with a harsh grinding noise, forcing us to switch to rowing pretty smartish. This was all witnessed by a small group of resort staff waiting in one of the shuttle boats who must have foreseen the end result of the route we were taking. They helpfully directed us away from the rocks, pointed out the correct way to go for the return journey, took our tender and directed us to the yacht club on the hill. On the steps leading up to it, we met a group of rather inebriated yachties from the regatta, one of whom informed us that they were on their way to The Rock and Roll Bar on the other side of the shore. ‘See you there’, he grinned as if it was the accepted thing to do after visiting the yacht club. The club had everything we wanted – drinks, wifi, a book swap facility and local information from the helpful staff.

By the time we came to cross the channel to Puerto Galera’s shore it was dark and we were careful to follow the correct route to avoid the rocks (it was clearly marked by coloured wooden poles as it turned out). The Rock and Roll Bar was easy to spot from its prominent position opposite the dinghy park along with the hubbub of noise emanating from it. The regatta guys were too busy discussing the day’s successes and enjoying more refreshments to notice us strolling past. It was too dark to see the town properly but the narrow, lively main street looked intriguing, and was different again from any other place we’d visited. We ate in an Italian restaurant of all places. Sitting at a table in the busy street, we ate pizza and pasta and I had a huge glass of red wine while watching the shopkeepers clean and close up their stores, and the antics of kids and dogs playing in the street. There was certainly no shortage of things to look at.  Returning to the dinghy, we discovered that our earlier encounter with rocks must have caused the pin to split in the propeller again so it was a long tiring row back to the boat for Paul, but great exercise  😉

Easter Monday

Our excursion to Batangus to check in, began at 10am on a beautiful sunny morning – and at 25 degrees, notably cooler than those we’d become used to in Malaysia. We parked the dinghy near the ferry terminal ready to board the 10 45 ferry. We had 30 minutes to wait, along with several other people who like us, had been guided to the ticket kiosk by a staff member from the ‘Father and Son’ line to catch the first ferry due. It was a great place to sit and people-watch. I am becoming more enamoured with the Philippines the more I see of it. There is a ‘no nonsense’ but friendly attitude inherent in the people generally that makes it pleasant to interact with them even with a language barrier; I think it has a lot to do with facial expressions.

The ferry arrived 20 minutes late and boarding was more of a chaotic free for all compared to the orderly process we comply with for health and safety regulations in the UK. We were amused to see a couple of staff members with ‘elderly assistance’ on their tee shirts. In order to get further along the boat you had to clamber over waist high, plastic partitions so anyone infirm would struggle for sure. Once we were all seated and underway, vendors selling little packets of salted peanuts and bottles of water picked their way through the passengers and we bought some nuts to share on the way. The seats weren’t uncomfortable exactly but were hard and there was considerable engine vibration that sent some people to sleep. Staff moved along the windows securing waterproof screens to protect us from the spray as the boat gathered speed and for the next hour or so most of us settled down to staring at our personal screens, as passengers on public transport are wont to these days.  At around 12 30 the engine slowed and people began gathering their belongings ready to disembark.

More food and drink vendors, along with taxi drivers and trikes were clamouring for custom once we were on shore. We could see the customs building across the way from us but we had to keep to a designated, coloured pedestrian walkway to get to it. Inside the air-conditioned building we were informed by a genial guy that officers were all currently occupied inspecting vessels but we were welcome to wait until one of them returned. This we were happy to do, as a welcome respite from the heat. It wasn’t long before an officer appeared and invited us over to his desk. Apart from the fact that we discovered we’d have to return there to check out, all went smoothly with paper and forms being passed back and forth, studied, copied and stamped in the way we’ve become used to. Immigration was next and it was some distance away. We were told that taxis or trikes could be hired just outside the building to take us there. Bearing in mind we’d been inundated with offers when we got off the ferry, not a single one of either was around outside the building, despite a nearby security guard assuring us that one would ‘be along soon’. After 20 minutes in the heat, I was thirsty and becoming impatient so we walked back to the port area and hailed a trike there. There followed a heart-in-the-mouth fast ride along a busy, bumpy main road where cars and lorries whizzed past alarmingly close to us, but the driver was unfazed and soon we drew up outside a small building where a limping dog was scavenging in some rubbish and a boy of about ten approached us with his hand out for money. The driver said he’d wait for us and after another quick and trouble-free process, we were on our way to a supermarket recommended by the lady who had dealt with us in immigration.

What we’d seen of Batangus hadn’t inspired us to linger and explore it further. Puerto Galera had much more to offer, so another trike was hailed for a ride back to the ferry terminal. A chaotic series of events to obtain tickets ensued when we got there. Keen to get the 3 30 ferry, Paul asked a man where the ticket office was. He immediately (and kindly) took Paul under his wing and proceeded to lead him at quite a pace, through the throngs of people, along pavements and around corners while explaining what he needed to ask for. I struggled to keep up and keep them in sight. To be fair, I think he thought Paul was on his own, but with his help we made the ferry on time instead of having to wait another hour. Fewer people were on board this time and with a different company on a faster boat, the journey was shorter. It was low tide when we reached the dinghy, which was well and truly beached on the mud. With the help of a French guy, who happened to be tying up his dinghy, Paul managed to get it back in the water, watched by a little girl who looked a bit doubtful about the success of the mission (see pic below)

We moved to a new location the following day as the regatta had ended. It was much closer to the shore and meant we could take advantage of the free service boat provided by the yacht club. It wasn’t easy grabbing the mooring buoy, which had no rope on the top of it to catch with the boat hook. The force of holding it almost pulled me over the rail and it took both of us to hold on to it while Paul threaded the line through the metal hoop. Our first task after taking advantage of the handy shuttle service, was to find a laundry. Quite a heavy load had built up over the weeks so I was amazed to be told that our huge service wash would cost less than £2.

While ambling around the town for a proper look at it in daylight I spotted roosters in cages, with signs attached advertising them as good fighters, or with details of the next fight that would take place. Cock fighting is a popular sport here, not one that we were keen to see, obviously. I also noticed several stray dogs with ‘street’ wounds such as torn ears and patchy coats and the females looked like they had had litter after litter of pups. When you come across clearly unneutered animals it makes you realise what a rare sight they are on the streets at home. Before returning to the boat we walked down to the beach where it was quieter so that I could make a phone call. A couple of boys nearby were having great fun using stones and empty bottles playing at being barmen and were thrilled when Paul took their picture.

Paul made an early morning ferry journey back to Batangus to check us out on April 4th. I was glad I wasn’t needed, having plenty to catch up on on board. He returned at 1 30 with a tale of the usual confusion he’d encountered involving authority and hierarchy issues. Apparently, when he presented himself at the place we’d checked in at, he was told that to check out he’d have to go to the customs guy downstairs. Once there, the officer was outraged that the other people had checked us in in the first place because only he had the authority to do that, and if he had, then he would have checked us out at the same time and we wouldn’t have had to come back. It seems they may need to communicate with each other about consistency in their procedures 😉

We had laundry to collect so called the service boat for a pick up (could easily get used to that handy service). On shore, we returned to the fresh market we’d walked around the day before and bought some of the gorgeous mangoes we’ve taken a fancy to here. The town was very busy and noisy with the roar and thrum of various motor engines. I’m getting used to the nifty trikes now, though which are so much cheaper and more available than taxis.

Our third call to the service boat took us to the yacht club later that evening. Wednesdays are curry night there and judging by the amount of people, it’s very popular. It was all laid out in self-serve heated containers at the end of the bar and after paying, you simply helped yourself from a choice of seafood, beef or vegetable curry, plain rice, papadums with all the traditional Indian accompaniments. Both of us went back for seconds, it was so tasty. We were joined at our table by two elderly Swedish sailors and their young Filipino companions. They gave us useful advice regarding our imminent trip to Subic Bay, and were entertaining dinner companions, both having plenty to relate from their sailing experiences. Time to move on in the morning, although we agreed it would have been lovely to see and explore more of Puerto Galera. The images below show only part of its charm.

Kathy

 

It was going to be somewhat of a race to get through the Philippines, and then journey on to Japan in time make the 11th May start of the Setouchi Rally. At one point, Paul was considering cancelling our places on it and cutting our losses. I did feel for him because along with route planning, he had to take typhoons, wind direction and sea states into consideration as he mulled over the options, as well as to decide on back up plans. His illness in KK had seriously disrupted the schedule. Pushing those thoughts to one side for the time being however, we weighed anchor just after 9am on March 26th and left Ulugan Bay for El Nido, a journey which included an overnight stop at the delightfully named Jib Boom Bay on the way. We arrived there at lunchtime, having made better speed than we had anticipated and anchored in 9 metres of water. The pictures show what a peaceful spot it is.

I was so taken by its beauty in fact that later, when we took the dinghy ashore, I was too busy gazing at the beach, trying to determine whether I was looking at a house or a shed, I didn’t pay attention to watching the depth and checking for coral on the sea bed. An awful grinding noise as we drew close to the beach soon reminded me. The propeller had hit a rock causing its pin to split. I wasn’t sure how serious that was but felt terribly guilty, and relieved when Paul managed to fix it. This lovely, remote picture postcard location, we soon discovered, was home to a family who had set up home on the beach. Three people had watched us arrive and they looked with interest as we dragged the dinghy up the sand to secure it. A young couple were sitting outside a small dwelling made of bamboo. The woman was cradling a tiny baby, and an older woman, presumably a grandmother of the baby, stood just behind her – all of them smiled as we walked nearer to them. Three barking dogs, who looked a bit too keen to investigate us, backed off at a command from the man. Thinking of the many ‘No Trespassing’ signs we’d seen, Paul asked them if it was ok to walk along the beach. The man nodded and despite the language barrier, a conversation of sorts took place about where we were from and where we were going. We learned that they did indeed live on the island. The man was a fisherman and looked pleased when we indicated how beautiful their home was. He was amused when Paul told of his own efforts to catch fish. I couldn’t help wondering how they all fitted in such a tiny house which afforded little protection from the elements – or privacy for that matter. On the way back as we passed the bamboo house, I spotted a much bigger, sturdier structure set behind some trees, complete with a satellite dish! Not so primitive after all then. I didn’t take my phone with me unfortunately so the only picture I have of the beach is the one below, taken from the anchorage.

We would probably have stayed another night if we hadn’t been in such a hurry to get further north. An early start was necessary for the long leg to El Nido so at 6am on a stunningly gorgeous morning with the sun glowing behind a mountain before it revealed itself in all its glory, we motored off on a flat calm sea.

Paul was busy working below on the water maker later that morning while I kept watch in the cockpit. A fishing boat I’d been keeping an eye on suddenly drew alarmingly close and I could see the three men on board gesticulating wildly and – to my mind – angrily. Their fishing net marker buoy ahead was clearly visible but it was still some distance off. Paul came up and said they were warning us to keep our distance. Their gestures (one of which looked decidedly rude to me) seemed to be directing us where to go so we duly followed. One of them held up a fishing net and shook it in our direction in case we hadn’t got the message. I was feeling a bit indignant at their presumption that we wouldn’t have been cautious around the net without their intervention and had to resist the temptation to ‘gesticulate’ in return, especially when Paul said we were never any threat to their net anyway. The detour took about thirty minutes but they seemed satisfied once we had passed their final buoy. We parted with waves and smiles (at least I think they were waving ;)).

We arrived at Corong Corong around 5 30 and instead of being the only boat in the bay we joined several others. Paul was pleased to spot a boat he knew, belonging to Phil and Eva, a couple he had befriended in Malaysia while I was away in February. We motored around a bit before choosing a spot. Corong Corong is a noisy, busy resort with lots of activity taking place. There were scuba diving boats, fishing boats and jet skis among the yachts and catamarans at anchor as well as kayaks and snorkellers all around us. On the beach, a quiz got underway early in the evening. We joined in for a while as we could hear the questions clearly. The enthusiastic DJ and booming music that followed almost tempted us to go over and join in the dancing, too but we fell asleep instead unfortunately 😉

On the way to check out the town late the next morning, we stopped at Phil and Eva’s boat to see if they knew where we could buy fuel and to get any handy info on the place. They told us the best place to park the dinghy, the short cut from the beach to the town, and recommended places to eat. There didn’t seem to be any shortage of bars and cafes on the beach itself, and there’s no shortage of alcohol here. The heat from the sun in a cloudless sky beat down relentlessly as we made our way along the narrow lane leading upwards from the beach. It took us straight onto a noisy, dusty and chaotic town road.

There were no pavements, and the dust was increased by the amount of building taking place along the roadsides. From what I could tell, more cafes, hostels and two-storey hotels were being constructed. Without the breeze from the sea it felt hotter than ever and we had opted to go on foot to El Nido, only a 20 minute walk but felt much longer in temperatures of over 30 degrees. The traffic consisted mainly of trikes but a fair few lorries and cars contributed to the noise and the stifling atmosphere. Despite all this, the environs were a feast for the eyes. An assortment of quaint houses and shops lined the road, along with souvenir shacks, food stalls and outdoor markets. Life is lived largely outside in this climate so a gathering of children, dogs and chickens among lines of colourful clothes hanging from string attached to porches indicated living quarters.

The ‘back yards’ of both homes and businesses inclined steeply down towards the beach and had been used variously for growing crops, animal pasture and pens, storage sheds, or levelled for construction to expand existing premises. The area is popular with backpackers. We passed several westerners and noticed signs advertising burgers, pizza and beer, which can be enjoyed while watching live sporting events in some of the bars.

The first place we headed for on reaching El Nido was a beach café for a much needed drink and sit down. After that, we had a short amble around to find a bakery and an ATM before hailing a trike to take us back to the village. Interestingly, the trike drivers, when asked how much the journey will cost, always ask you how much you think you should pay. Paul made a ‘no idea’ gesture the first time this happened and the driver shrugged in return, until Paul made an offer, the driver upped it a bit and we got the hang of the system. Some pics taken at El Nido below

The next day (Thursday March 29th) was a bit of a rest day before resuming our journey to Puerto Galera which would be a two or three day passage. Paul went for a snorkel to look at the underwater life near a little beach opposite our anchorage and late in the afternoon we went out to find Corong Corong’s public market. It was a typical outdoor Asian one with buckets of dried fish, and a separate wet area for the pungent fresh fish and meat (and associated flies). The fruit and veg stalls dominated, however, and were as attractive and colourful as ever. We bought potatoes, pineapple, tomatoes, onions, cucumber, peppers and apples, all from different stalls because the sellers are great to interact with and it would be a shame to limit yourself to just one. At other stalls we bought some ‘genuine’ Rayban reading glasses and some organic insect repellent. With everything so cheap, it would have been easy to give in to a spending spree judging by all the designer bags and perfumes on display 😉 Anyway, the insect repellent would be of much more value to us if it prevented any more of the itchy bites we’d been suffering from.

We had dinner in a restaurant close to the beach. It looked as if it might be expensive because it is part of a leisure resort and appeared plush. However, there was a reggae band playing, the menu looked good (and wasn’t too pricey after all) so we had good food, drinks and entertainment all for just over a tenner.

On Good Friday morning, when everyone back home would be tucking into hot cross buns, we weighed anchor and negotiated a tricky gap between two headlands to save going around the whole island. It was bit of an anxious time in case there were shallows and coral but it turned out fine and saved us a bit of time. The Filipino navy called us on VHF just as we had got all the sails out; they just wanted to know our last and next port of call. The sails stayed up all afternoon and we hurtled along at 6-7 knots for most of the day with no engine. After a dinner of pasta and pesto in the cockpit, I took the 8 until midnight watch under the comforting glow of an almost full moon. There was a bit of a tense time when I had to keep my wits about me among a host of fishing vessels. We were surrounded by them and your sense of perspective gets distorted by staring at so many bright and luminous lights. I thought I’d tweaked the course sufficiently but grew so alarmed by the proximity of two very brightly lit squid boats that I called for Paul to come up. I was worried about nets getting caught in the propeller, not to mention incurring the wrath of the fishermen – although it would have been too late by then anyway. Paul tactfully said he wouldn’t have got quite as close as that (I think he said we could have shaken the Captain’s hand across the decks) but thankfully all was fine.

We spent the last day of March at sea. For a while I actually believed we were heading for a place called ‘Dead Man’s Bay’. It wasn’t until Paul later referred to it as ‘Decapitation Bay’ that I realised he was jesting! A new course had been set so that we could have a night at anchor and Paul told me that there had been pirate incidents in the vicinity, but they happened such a long time ago there was nothing to worry about (!). By late morning we were tacking to reach the anchorage on a sea heavy with a swell that rocked us gently from side to side. This motion is easier to move around in than bucking up and down and is less likely to cause sea-sickness (for me anyway). By now, we had advanced north of Palawan, close to the island of Mindoro in the South China Sea. At 1 30 we were in a bay looking for a spot to set the anchor but there was a lot of rock on the sea bed so our first attempt failed. We moved further along and set in 13 metres among several fishing boats. One of them came up to have a look at us and the family on board waved and smiled. Hopefully they are pleased to see yachts visiting the area after pirate activity put many off going near the Philippines.

It was nice to have a break from the watches, but the tiredness that builds up from the alternate four hours on four hours off regime soon caught up with us. Both of us crashed out on the cabin bunks and were in a deep sleep by 9 30. The Spanish-sounding name of Puerto Galera would be our next port of call as the race to get to Japan in time for the Setouchi Rally begins in earnest.

Early in the morning of Wednesday March 21st we waved Ian and Marilyn off from the anchorage at Kaoua and soon afterwards, set off for Ulugan. Ian had told Paul the forecast was for little wind and we had a bit of a choppy start to the passage with no sail to stabilise us on the waves. Now that we’ll be doing more overnight passages, and especially as we’re more likely to encounter rougher conditions the further north we go, our ‘grab bags’ were filled. Like several things on a boat, they are something you have on board but hope never to use. Waterproof bags are placed near the hatch, ready to grab in an emergency (when we’re preparing to board something else we never hope to use, for instance: the liferaft!). Inside one bag, we placed passports, boat’s papers and bank cards. The other bag contains sachets of water, seasickness tablets, torches (one of which is clockwork) an epirb (a device which informs of our position) a hand held VHF radio and GPS .  The waves increased as night fell, and although the wind picked up it was in the wrong direction for sailing. Our night watches now have us life jacketed and clipped on as we stumble around doing checks. It’s one of my biggest fears that in rough seas, Paul has to clamber onto the coach roof to adjust sails and poles while being thrown around. The likelihood of him slipping in rough conditions is all too real for me and the first thing I do when I wake is to check he’s ok.

The boat rode a switchback of high waves all through the night, which causes a decidedly ‘drunken’ gait when moving around. Bruises appear on knees, thighs and arms from being shoved into hard edges, and like monkeys, we grab overhead rails to propel ourselves along. Apparently it wasn’t supposed to be this rough and Paul was sure it would improve shortly. Before that happened, though a few items left their shelves, flew through the doors and scattered all over the floor, including a box of washers and a container full of provisions we’d bought for the Pacific crossing. Paul got covered in diesel while attempting to fill the tank, and had to turn the boat into the wind to stabilise it. Worst of all, my shelf of books overturned so that the spines were hidden and only the pages were showing – a nightmare for me to look at and to be unable to rectify.

Making a coffee or eating anything more ambitious than a cereal bar or bags of snacks, biscuits etc was not possible and a timely reminder that I need to prepare things in advance for these passages. The day blurred into both of us alternately sitting, lying, sleeping, checking conditions, course speed and direction. Paul made us pot noodles – or the Malay equivalent – for dinner which, with the addition of bread made an ideal easy passage meal. The squall arrived just after midnight!

It was terrifying at times. The sails that had helped our speed were banging and flapping in the wind. The wind vane had been doing so well but the wind changed direction and caught us off guard. It increased in knots very quickly and I watched anxiously as Paul crawled along the port side to sort out the sheets while the boat was listing and crashing into the waves. I struggled to hear the instructions he was yelling above the roar of the wind and the banging of the sail block. I had to turn the deck lights on, switch the autohelm on, change the course on the dial above the hatch – all of which meant trying to locate my glasses, and a torch in order to see where the switches were, while trying to remain upright in the rocky conditions. The rain was coming down in sheets and I looked at Paul, all lit up by the spreader lights as he brought the boat back on course, soaked with rainwater and dodging the waves that were crashing into the cockpit. ‘Are we in grave danger?’ I asked. His response (which reassured me) was that he felt in grave danger of going insane if the alarm on his phone wasn’t switched off soon! This is the alarm he uses to wake him every 20 minutes while he is on watch! I hadn’t even heard that in the background with all the other noise. That example is par for the course on any passage and never seems such a big deal once it’s passed. It didn’t stop me from sleeping to be ready for my watch, but only after I extracted my usual promise that Paul would clip on if he had to go on the coach roof. By the time I took over at 5am, all was calm and I took pleasure in watching the sky go through a fabulous range of colours before the sun peeped up on the horizon.

Our progress was slow but steady throughout the day, but we were burning more fuel than Paul anticipated due to not being able to sail as much as we’d wanted to. Nature’s elements take on increased relevance at sea because of their impact on our comfort and progress. We’re constantly checking the wind speed and direction, looking for dark clouds on the horizon, the height of the waves as well as what phase the moon is in and when it will rise. I can also see why sailors get inspired to learn about star constellations and planets. That night, after a dinner of sausages, potatoes and beans I sat in the cockpit admiring them. Because it was such a clear night, with no light pollution or obstructions, they appear beautifully vivid in the blackness and are quite mesmerising.

The next night, I had to wake Paul a few times to sort out various incidents with the sails. Once, the topping lift became disengaged and the boom was ramming against the solar panels. I watched as he attempted to retrieve its rope with a boat hook while it was flying around fairly high up. He had to get in some precarious positions while the boat was rocking, which had me mentally rehearsing the man overboard procedure until he retrieved it. We ploughed on through high waves in an up and down motion, consequently not making much headway: our average speed was 3 knots instead of the desired 6. There was also a lot of sea spray coming over the sides, which certainly wakes you up when you’ve just come on watch all groggy, and stick your head out for a quick look around!

Making coffee down below one morning, I was shocked when I noticed a boat alongside us from the window and rushed up to see it. It turned out to be the first of the many fishing ‘bancas’ we would see in the Philippines. Three men were on board the wide, raft-like vessel which is distinctive for its balancing wooden contraptions on each side of the hull. It seemed they had simply come for a closer look and waved and smiled at me when I appeared in the cockpit, then motored off into the choppy waves. I marvelled at how far out they were; land, in the form of Palawan, was a long way off and it looked too flimsy to withstand the increasingly rough water but really, what do I know  ;).

Despite Paul’s repeated assurances that it would soon get calmer, it never really did for the whole of the passage, but at least he provided me with the hope that it might, and it was nice to feel justified in lying around reading because it wasn’t possible to do much else. On the morning of Saturday 24th March we watched Ulugan Bay get closer. More bancas began to appear and in the lee of the hills the sea finally grew calmer. Finding a spot to anchor in meant tackling the dreaded coral. Even with two depth sounders and me at the bow looking out for the shallows, we still managed to scrape along a bit of coral – a horrid sound indeed. We meandered around for a while practising spotting it and attempting to determine if the bed was mostly sandy. So many factors need to be right, and all at the exact moment. It gets very stressful, especially after not much sleep and the intense heat beating down. Still, we did it on our second attempt and were secure by 1 30 in a peaceful and picturesque bay on the west side of Palawan Island. Paul went ashore on his own a bit later to check out the procedure for immigration while I got myself and the boat shipshape. He returned to state that it resembled parts of The Anambas Islands in that it was very basic. He also said he’d arranged for a tricycle (which I found hard to picture) to take us to Puerto Princesa in the morning.

Ulugan Bay looked gorgeous just after sunrise the following day, surrounded as it is by lush green hills and pretty mangroves, with only a few fishing boats on the calm water.

Our approach to the little dock in the village of Macarascas was watched by a few curious and smiling faces who continued to stare as we tied the dinghy and unloaded our bags for the day trip. The village is primitive as Paul said, but it looked lovely, and had a friendly vibe. I thought it was charming, and I liked the fact that the villagers hang out at the waterside, chatting, smoking, children playing nearby. There were a number of dogs too. Once the guy who’d dealt with the trike hire had been found, we were led to the tricycle – which turned out to be a motorbike with a sidecar.

These are like taxis in the Philippines and each one is customised and decorated according to its owner’s taste. I had no idea how long the journey would take and once we’d squeezed into the surprisingly small seat and the engine started, I couldn’t ask because the noise was deafening. Puerto Princesa is located on the east side of the island, directly opposite Ulugan so our route traversed the middle of the island. It seems the custom is to honk the horn at anyone coming towards you, whether it’s a car, bike or trike. Unable to talk, there was plenty to look at. If I was expecting the Philippines to resemble Malaysia and Thailand I soon discovered that it differs from them in ways that are hard to pin down. I couldn’t take pictures on the journey but took as many as I could during the stops. The houses we passed looked very much like chalets, each one different but all quite small.

We stopped after about 30 minutes at a place called Salvacion. Here, we were supposed to get a bus to Puerto Princesa. We hadn’t even got out of the trike (not an easy task when you’ve been scrunched up in such a small space) when we were approached by guys from a roadside café who urged us to try their wonderful coffee while we waited. He was very proud of his coffee and rightly so as it happened. We sat at a table where dogs were snoozing under the chairs. We  sipped strong Americanos and chatted to the owners about where we were from, going to and so on.

The owner had promised to let us know when the bus arrived but I did wonder, noticing one drive off if perhaps that was it. We’ll never know because not long after a guy came over and said the bus was full and the next one was an hour away. We were offered the chance to take a trike for the rest of the journey with this guy’s friend who happened to be free. After a bit of haggling we agreed a price and were led to our second trike. Paul suspected we might have unwittingly helped the mate get some business as we had no way of knowing about the bus times or availability but it hardly mattered anyway as long as we got there. We hired him for the whole day and he would be taking us to the immigration building, the yacht club where we would be meeting Ian and Marilyn and back to Macarascas too so it was a better deal really. After the tank was filled with fuel from a stash of coke bottles, the journey resumed on bumpy, gravelly roads through rural Palawan. Tiny villages were set back from the main road, bordered by lush vegetation with rolling hills beyond.

Some parts of the route were steep and I wondered if the trike would make it when the engine juddered and we slowed right down. Undeveloped land was littered with signs saying ‘No Trespassing – land belongs to…’ suggesting there are plans for construction right across the island. Every single shop we passed was named for its owner; ‘Lhily’s Store’, ‘Franky’s Store’ for example. I saw no brand name shops in the villages, but I guess that could change if planned development takes off. There were several churches of various denominations along the way, and we were reminded that it was Palm Sunday by groups of people waving the traditional branches around as they came out. Gradually, larger and more industrial buildings began to appear, along with gaudy signs for local karaoke bars, night clubs and restaurant and I knew we must be approaching Puerto Princesa. Our driver stopped a couple of times to consult with people for directions, but we came upon it almost by accident –both of us recognising it from the google images. It was a complex of three shops on a busy street in the centre, but there was no immigration building there. A handwritten sign adorned with smileys informed us that it had relocated to a shopping mall, which was closed on Sundays. Checking in would have to wait until El Nido.

Our next mission was to find an ATM. Quite a few wouldn’t accept our cards and Paul ended up changing some US dollars at a money changing kiosk. Puerto Princesa is a busy, traffic-choked town, quite a contrast from the rural idylls we’d driven through. On our way to the yacht club, the thin metal sides of the side car radiated heat as we queued in traffic and it felt like we were being boiled as the journey went on. It was worth it when we found the place though. Situated by the waterside overlooking the bay, there was a cooling breeze and a bar offering food and drink. Soon, Ian and Marilyn were dinghying over to join us from Songbird and we had a pleasant hour or so eating lunch and catching up with them.

We called our driver (we really should remember to ask names) and got him to take us to a mall so we could stock up on a few things and then readied ourselves for the return journey. This was a lot less uncomfortable because the heat of the sun had waned by then. Back at Macarascas there was the expected interested group of people at the quay watching as we parked up to load our things into the dinghy. The plan was for me to wait there while Paul got our driver to take him to a petrol station to buy fuel (a one hour round trip). Thankfully, a helpful guy, overhearing this, pointed out that the shop right next to us sold diesel. The lady owner poured 60 coke bottles full of it into our containers which we loaded that into the overcrowded dinghy. To the accompaniment of children waving and shouting farewell and dogs barking, we set off back across the bay to figure out our plans for the next leg.

 

 

Our intention was to stay in Sutera Harbour for a few days, prepare for the trip to the Philippines and continue travelling north to the island of Palawan. Things, as they say, didn’t quite go to plan, however.  We spent Wednesday March 7th sticking to our schedule, which was mainly shopping for drinks, fresh produce and other essentials for the two-week passage. The morning was taken up with a visit to a supermarket known for its variety of Western products and selection of cheeses. In the afternoon, we visited the market in KK’s centre so that Paul could buy some fresh fish, and stopped for a drink in one of the waterside bars overlooking the bay, noting that it would be the last time we’d see it for several years – if at all. From there we went to Imago Mall for a bite to eat and a final shop in the supermarket there, and took a taxi back to the boat to stow it all away.

The morning of our departure got off to a promising start. Provisions were stowed, the water and fuel tanks were filled, engine checks done and the passage plan was all set up in the cockpit on the iPad. I reached into the fridge, to get some spread for my toast and remarked that it didn’t feel as cold as usual. Paul did some checks and confirmed that the fridge had stopped working. A more detailed examination revealed that it wasn’t going to be a quick fix, and it looked as though we would have to postpone leaving. We quickly dispatched our frozen goods to Ian and Marilyn’s boat where they kindly agreed to store it for us. The rest would be fine for a while as it was still cold enough inside the fridge, but there was quite a lot of food in there for a two-week passage. We also had the added stress of having checked out and without knowing how long the problem would take to fix, weren’t sure whether we should check back in again. Word spread about our plight and we had several offers of help and advice from neighbours and marina staff. Paul spent most of the day researching, emailing and contacting various firms and distributors about obtaining a new controller for the fridge to replace the faulty one. By the evening it had been ordered from a place in Devon to be delivered here by DHL on Monday. We had also acquired a huge bag of ice to help preserve the contents of the fridge, so things were looking up and we decided a few days’ delay wasn’t such a big deal . Paul took advantage of the extra time to take his water-logged iPhone to a kiosk in Imago Mall. A chap there had offered to fix it over the course of a few days but at the time we had planned to be leaving the following day.  On the walk back,  we discussed how we might spend the unplanned extended weekend we’d be having in KK…cycle rides maybe, swimming in the resort’s pools, a bit of bowling perhaps? We did none of those things as it turned out. The next ten days would prove to be a lot more stressful than sorting out a broken fridge.

We were both up early on Friday 9th March. Paul had begun to feel ill during the night. He complained of feeling chilled, was shivering uncontrollably and said he was aching all over. He’d also been sweating a lot and had a headache. He’s had random attacks like this before so he took some paracetamol which usually helps, but he didn’t feel much better by morning. He decided this might be an opportune time for me to practise taking and recording vital signs with the medical equipment we have on board. I retrieved the thermometer and a blood pressure and pulse monitoring device and following the instructions, recorded both of our results so that we could compare and contrast. Although Paul’s pulse was normal, his temperature was quite high and his blood pressure was slightly low. He felt lethargic, too so we guessed a day or two taking it easy with regular doses of paracetamol and ibuprofen would sort it out. He dozed most of the day but whenever he woke he still felt rough, he was shivery and his temperature remained high. That night we made the mistake of looking up symptoms online and checking what to do when someone’s temperature doesn’t go down. The number of life-threatening diseases he could potentially have was staggering and scary. Malaria and dengue fever seemed the most likely, according to his symptoms and I kept thinking of his time in the volcanic mud pool on Tiga. Moreover, I had sat in the cockpit earlier that evening so as not to disturb his sleep and ended up with several mosquito bites of my own. We’d heard that incidents of dengue fever had been reported in the nearby stilted village and I thought how awful it would be if we both went down with it. It’s easy to imagine all sorts of worst case scenarios when someone falls ill in a tropical country, and I’m the first to admit that dealing with sick people is not one of my strong points.

Saturday dawned with no improvement after another night of uncontrollable shaking and sweating. I kept suggesting calling a doctor, and even got the list of numbers we’d been given by marina staff for emergencies but typically, Paul kept insisting it was a viral infection and it would pass in a day or two. By the afternoon, though, his temperature had risen to 40 and he’d become delirious;  by which I mean he was awake but narrating a vivid dream about rivers of chocolate among other bizarre things.  It’s so not like Paul to ramble on making no sense and I was seriously alarmed. I told him I was going to get Ian and Marilyn, thinking they might be able to persuade him to see a doctor. I knew he was bad when he didn’t protest, just nodded and said that would be fine. They both agreed with me he needed medical attention as soon as they saw him. Marilyn took his temperature and said he should get checked out at the hospital. I was very grateful for their help and advice. Sometimes you need the assurance and second opinion of a third party to confirm your instincts (as well as to convince a stubborn patient).  Paul felt very dizzy and weak by the time we’d got ready and shut the boat up. Ian helped him up the steps to Sutera’s reception area where we called a Grab for the short distance to the Queen Elizabeth Hospital. There, we answered a few questions at the admissions desk and paid the £10 treatment fee for foreigners. We were told to take a seat and wait until someone called the number we’d been given.  A thoughtful security guard, seeing us looking around at the array of led numbered displays and straining to hear the announcements over a tannoy,  made sure we didn’t get confused or miss our turn by looking out for us and prompting us about when and where we had to go. We didn’t have long to wait before being called into the consultation/examination area and after asking a series of questions, the doctor recommended a blood test and rehydration treatment. We had left the boat in a bit of a hurry and hadn’t brought any spare clothing with us. Paul was still shivering and because it was icy cold in the air conditioned building, it wasn’t long before I was too. After his blood test, and while he was attached to a rehydration drip with my shawl around him I went outside for an hour or so to warm myself up and to find a shop to buy water. The diagnosis, when we eventually got it, was a viral infection (if Paul had said ‘I told you so’ at that point I would have been very tempted to slap him 😉 ). Anyway, we were relieved it wasn’t dengue or malaria…and I still blame that mud pool.

The next week or so was all about waiting for the worst of Paul’s fever to pass and to wait for the fridge part to be delivered. At times he felt better, and was even well enough to walk to the mall to collect his iPhone, which had been successfully repaired. To keep the fridge contents cold, we needed to keep buying huge bags of ice from a guy who supplies it to the resort. We’d obtained a number for him from reception but could never get hold of him that way. It was funny hearing Paul on his mobile asking ‘hello, is that the ice man?’ We had to resort to waiting until his van arrived at the car park and making the poor man jump by hailing him when he got out. The virus continued to lay Paul low, however, especially in the way it sapped his energy and he had to resort to just lying on the bunk in the cabin feeling weak and listless. Marilyn pointed out to me that it was strange the results of the blood test had ruled out dengue so quickly as it usually takes longer, which was something I hadn’t considered. It was clear that we wouldn’t be able to continue our travels for at least a few more days.

I took to walking to the mall on my own late in the afternoons to get drinking water and fresh bread while Paul rested in the cabin. Sometimes I stopped at a bar to read or people-watch and enjoy a change of scene. On Monday (12th) the fridge part was delivered and I helped to unload the contents of the locker in the cockpit so Paul could access the area to work on it. Thankfully it seemed to work but we left all the stuff out in case it needed more attention. It was frustrating for Paul to feel confined and restricted from doing anything by feeling so exhausted. The delay in leaving had already meant our time in The Philippines would be cut short, and there was concern we wouldn’t have enough time to get to Japan for the start of the rally we’re booked to take part in. All in all, what with the humidity and the illness, and the frustration of confinement it wasn’t the most content of atmospheres on Sister Midnight. I think my bedside manner could do with some refining and I couldn’t help smiling in amazement when I remembered how I had desperately wanted to be a nurse when I was about 14 – it would never have worked as I’m sure Paul will agree  😉

One afternoon, we met a Japanese lady called Mio who was looking for a boat to crew on as a means of getting back to Japan. She was quite an amazing woman who for six months of the year travelled around wherever she wanted to visit with earned money from collecting rare seaweed on a fishing boat in Japan. Her only rule was that she would not fly anywhere. She had heard we would be sailing to Japan and came to visit us. She understood that we weren’t looking for crew but thought it would be good to chat and to swap information. She very kindly brought us a papaya as a gift. We tried it later and I loved it but Paul’s description made me laugh. He said it resembled a melon, tasted of sock and reminded him of mice! I don’t think the delirium had returned ;). She gave us some useful tips about Japanese culture and food and we passed on some names who might be able to help her.

Paul was keen to get a haircut before we left so we got a taxi to a mall a bit further out of town which has a couple of ‘hair studios’ as well as two bookshops and a good supermarket. I bought a guide book on Japan while Paul had months of hair growth shorn away; he looked and felt much better for it. The excursion exhausted him though so we were definitely right to delay our departure. He ate a meal that evening for the first time in days so although the process was slow, he was definitely improving. Our extended stay allowed time for sorting and arranging the many maps and huge paper navigation charts that are on board. They are fascinating to look at, and selecting the ones that relevant for our imminent travels gave me a better perspective of Philippine locations, especially as I’m reading a book about prisoners of war who were held on Palawan Island during the Second World War.

We hoped to leave sometime during the weekend of March 16th/17th, but Paul still felt like he hadn’t enough energy to do anything other than lie in the cabin and doze. Both of us are feeling quite desperate to move on now, and I was worried in case he was relapsing. By Sunday evening, however, after we’d taken a taxi to Giant Supermarket to get some provisions for the Pacific crossing later this year, Paul said we would leave in the morning as it was only a short hop to a place called Sambulong, and we could always turn back if he felt bad. We left at 10 30 on a blistering hot morning, waved off by Ian and Marilyn who we’ll be keeping in touch with. It was the right thing to do because it wasn’t long before the cool breeze invigorated both of us after being stuck in the heat with little change of scene for so long.

Psychologically, we felt we were moving on and making progress with the planned itinerary, even though our time in The Philippines would be shorter.  The highlight of this short passage was the sight of the imposing Mount Kinabalu when it came into view. I had read all about it during our time in Sutera in December. It’s possible for novices to climb this mountain, and many do. Maybe if we had stayed longer and felt fitter, we would have attempted it. The descriptions of altitude sickness sounded a bit off putting but seem worth it for the spectacular scenes of sunrise visible from the summit. We anchored at 6pm near some FADS (fishing aggregation devices), which are best described as large wooden platforms for fisherman. They use them as a base to fish from, and they have facilities for making drinks, provide shelter from the elements and even have a generator for lights. It looked quite cosy from our position near them when it got dark, and we could hear the men laughing and chatting during the night.

The guys on the FADS waved us off when we left in the morning. Mount Kinabalu looked striking in the early morning sunlight before it faded into the distance behind us. Our destination was Tanjung Kaoua, where Ian and Marilyn were already anchored so we had a chat with them on the VHF before settling down for the night. The spot was pretty but a little bit rolly. This would be our last anchorage for a while. It was to be night passages (and taking turns at four hourly watches) all the way to The Philippines for the next three nights.

 

 

I’ve been back in the tropics for almost a month now but haven’t had a chance to put any posts or pics on. This is the first instalment of the events and experiences of the month of March.

As we shuffled towards the open doors in the departure terminal at Heathrow where a bus was waiting outside to take us to the plane, the air turned icy cold and the building’s huge window revealed a blizzard was underway outside. It was dark, and the airport’s exterior lights lit up the snow flurries to create a pretty, festive scene. Inside Terminal 5, I had noticed several European flights getting cancelled due to the snow – the so called ‘Beast from the East’, and while some of us shivered in our winter layers as the bus meandered around the tarmac, I knew that my next view of the outside would be totally different. I left Liverpool on 26th February after 6 lovely weeks catching up with family and friends. It was now time to return to Malaysia to continue our travels in Asia. I arrived in KL the following day laden with around 50kg of luggage, most of which was heavy weather gear, boat parts and jars and a few food products that can’t be obtained in SE Asia.

After Paul had collected me from the airport, we headed for the welcome opulence of The Majestic Hotel in Kuala Lumpur’s centre, where we had stayed when I first arrived in Malaysia in August 2016. Listening to Paul negotiate the terms for the taxi ride there, I knew I was back in Malaysia. There was none of the straightforward interaction when getting a taxi in the UK. First you have to go to a desk, not a taxi rank, where some haggling takes place about the price of the journey and then you take a ticket with a registration number to the relevant car outside. The price didn’t come down enough for Paul’s liking, however and he told the line of staff behind the desk that he would call a Grab or an Uber for a cheaper deal. At this, one of the men warned him, ‘you take Grab, you die’, which wasn’t a threat as it turned out, just a sulky assertion that it wouldn’t be as safe a ride as they could offer.

We had been upgraded to a luxury suite on our previous stay at The Majestic, and such was the case when we checked in. This time, however we were given the Bridal Suite (which I thought prudent not to publish on Facebook in case people got the wrong idea  ;)). Needless to say it was beautiful, especially the view from our room which was even more spectacular at nightfall.

I had regretted not seeing KL’s Petronas Towers during our previous visit so that evening we went for a walk to have a look at them. It was strange not to have to clad myself in layers against the cold for an evening out and I enjoyed the 30 minute walk in a temperature that had just enough breeze to combat the humidity. The towers were stunning. I thought they looked extraordinary, rising up high in the darkening sky, with their lights twinkling. I would have loved to walk across the bridge that connects them.  The square beneath the towers had an arrangement of fountains which provided great entertainment in the way that the lights and the fountain’s mechanisms made the water appear to dance in time to the music. We sat for a long time in the cool evening enjoying the whole atmosphere.

Late in the afternoon of Wednesday 28th February  we reached Labuan after a 2 and a half hour flight and were back on Sister Midnight by early evening. I was glad of a few days to reacclimatise and get over the worst of the jet lag before we had to move on anywhere. Labuan is the place for duty free products so we were also busy restocking with wine and other provisioning, unpacking and going through the checking out procedures.

The island of Tiga (pronounced similar to the character from Winnie the Pooh; ‘Tigga’) was our next destination and we left Labuan for it on Saturday March 3rd on a rather overcast and humid morning. I steered us out of the marina and out into the open sea before the autohelm resumed duties. We had a few rain showers on the way, some fairly heavy, and although there was a bit of wind we couldn’t put the sails up because we needed to be at our anchorage before sunset so speed was of the essence. The noise of the engine and the gentle motion lulled me to sleep off more of my jet lag in the cabin. It felt good to be on our way again, with the exciting prospect of new countries to explore in the coming months. At about 3pm, a shout from the cockpit announced ‘I’ve caught a fish and it looks like it might be a big one!’ After two years of trying, Paul had finally got one. He reeled it in and I stayed below until he’d killed it (I’m told it had a quick and humane end). The weather worsened while all that was going on and Paul prepared the as yet unknown fish on deck in pouring rain to the accompaniment of loud thunder claps. The rain scuppered his plans to barbecue it that evening. He found out later that it was called a Trevally. I wonder if this will be the first of many?

We anchored opposite Tiga at 5pm in fairly shallow water. Conditions were almost exactly the same as when I last saw Tiga in December, although thankfully the sea wasn’t as rocky. Through the drizzle I spotted monkeys lining the beach and could see a few people near the resort. Heavy clouds ruined any chance of a sunset view but when darkness fell, the island looked pretty, lit up as it was with fairy lights.

Sunday brought clear skies and warm sunshine. I looked out at the island just before the sun came up; it looked gorgeous in the dawn light. The monkeys had returned to the shoreline, some of them scampering back and forth from the beach to the water’s edge. Apparently they like to beach comb, gathering up the coconuts and other treasures that wash up onto the sand to store and examine later presumably. We went ashore in the dinghy in the afternoon. I finally got my wish to set foot on ‘Survivor Island’ and found it to be as picturesque as I imagined. There weren’t many people around, just a few day trippers who come for the famous volcanic mud pool, and some guests from the small holiday resort.

Paul was keen to have a dip in the ‘anti-ageing’ mud so we set off to find it. It was very hot and if I’d known how far away the place was I would have waited somewhere shady. We were attacked by biting insects almost as soon as we entered the jungle path. Luckily we were armed with insect repellent so hurriedly applied it on top of the sunscreen. Despite being fearful of coming across millipedes, the only creatures we saw were the more welcome sights of monitor lizards and monkeys. A sign informed us the pool was a 20-minute walk away but it felt considerably longer in the heat, and parts of the path were worryingly wet and swampy. Several smiling, mud-clad walkers passed us on their way back from their bath and assured us we would love it. I hoped Paul would because I was still not in the least bit tempted to take a dip in its murky depths. As I became more sweaty climbing the path’s steeper parts, however, I almost reconsidered, thinking that at least it might be cool in there.

The pool was deserted when we got there and Paul lost no time in stripping down to his trunks and plunging in, leaving me in charge of the photography. I watched him from the wooden viewing platform and thought about not only all the flying bugs hovering above the surface, but also of what might be moving around inside the mud – not to mention all the human bodies that had been in there previously. I couldn’t help but ask him why he was prepared to put himself through that: ‘For the experience’, he replied, ducking his head under to become completely immersed. He reported that he could feel ‘things’ in the pool and that it wasn’t possible to swim as it was too thick.  As is often the case, the walk back seemed a lot quicker but it was decidedly uncomfortable for Paul as the mud dried on him. I think he was glad to leap into the sea to complete his experience. I’ll stick to moisturisers  😉

I had a much more pleasurable first time experience the next day. I learned how to kayak! I had watched Paul go out on it in the morning and thought how relaxing it looked, so when he suggested I had a go I thought I should at least give it a try.  I was thrilled to find I could balance enough to stand up in it, and even more pleased when, after following Paul’s instructions regarding the paddle, I began to propel myself along. It didn’t take me long to get the hang of it and I thoroughly enjoyed it. In clear waters it will be marvellous to drift along in the water and observe the scenes below. Not being a big fan of swimming and snorkelling I have at last found something water-related that I can enjoy.

Later, we went out in the dinghy to take a closer look at the coral reef a short distance away from us. As we drew closer the surface resembled a huge pile of white bones. This is dead coral and can be very sharp, so once we had anchored the dinghy, I donned my flip flops and clambered ashore. My initial delight that the long, crunchy reef was entirely free of rubbish was shattered when I came across several of the ubiquitous and currently controversial plastic bottles at the far end of the reef. Paul did some snorkelling and reported a few fish but not as many as we’ve seen in other places. Next, we dinghied over to the shore of Tiga and I got out to paddle over to the beach, where I intended to walk its length until parallel with Sister Midnight where Paul would pick me up. I saw plenty of monkeys on the way and I’m not sure if I was observing them or they were watching me. They are much more wary of people here than in the more populated islands. It was great to look up and see a grey, furry face peering from the branches of a tree but when they spotted me, they tended to shriek – possibly to alert friends and family of my approach. I saw and heard plenty of colourful birds and watched groups of silvery fish leaping in arcs in the shallow waves. Paul took photos as he followed in the dinghy until it was time to collect me. A delightful way to spend an hour on a Monday afternoon. It was even worth the sandfly bites I felt all over me later.

We left the beautiful island of Tiga just after 9am on Tuesday March 6th.  The wind enabled us to sail most of the way to KK where Paul had checked to make sure a berth was free for us. The six hours it took to get there were lovely. A fresh breeze filled the cockpit and the water was calm enough to relax and enjoy the ride. The entrance into the marina was practically as effortless as the last time I remembered, with marina staff guiding us in and taking our lines. It was good to see Sutera Harbour again, a place I will always associate with Christmas. Now, it was festooned with decorations from the recent Chinese New Year celebrations. An added bonus not long after tying up was being greeted by Ian, who I hadn’t seen since Miri. Later, he and Marilyn called by for a chat and offered to get some cheap fuel for Paul. We went out for dinner with them later to a Chinese restaurant where you had to choose your food from an array of ingredients laid out in containers which were then given to the cook. This was the start of an unplanned, extended stay in Kota Kinabalu but it turned out to be an ideal place to be ‘stuck’ in for the couple of weeks that followed.

Kathy

Our first stop after leaving the Klias River was the island of Tiga. We planned to spend two or three nights here, having heard that it’s great for snorkelling and kayaking. Tiga was the setting for the first of the ‘castaway’ desert island reality TV programmes. ‘Survivor’ aired in Britain in 2001 and I remember watching it avidly. We had also been told about the rejuvenating properties of the island’s natural volcanic mud bath. I had no intention of sitting in a pit of mud, however – no matter how anti-ageing it might be. I was looking forward to the prospect of seeing more monkeys and the snakes that are purported to be found there. We began our journey at 7am on Monday December 18th. It was a murky, drizzly morning with a fairly strong wind as opposed to a gentle breeze. Knowing that it was likely to get rocky on the 5 or 6 hour passage, I stowed things away and made coffee while it was relatively calm. We had the mainsail and headsail up for a little while. With Paul still having no luck bagging a fish, I kept watch for a couple of hours so that he could doze and perhaps dream of catching one 😉 . By lunchtime, the sea had got rougher, visibility was poor and it stayed that way until we reached Tiga at half past two. Paul wasn’t sure if we’d be able to anchor in such choppy conditions but it was better nearer to the island and we dropped anchor hoping we wouldn’t be in for a rocky night. Looking across at Tiga in the drizzly rain, my spirits sank a little at the thought of three nights anchored here with coffee running low, poor internet and inclement weather. I had presents to order and check up on via Amazon and was getting a bit anxious about the dates. I busied myself with preparing some bread dough while the boat was rocking and began to feel slightly nauseous and not a little sorry for myself. You can imagine my elation when I heard Paul phoning the resort in Kota Kinabalu to see if it would be possible to arrive a couple of days earlier than we had booked for. They said it would be no problem to arrive the following day. Typically, conditions improved after that and the sun came out.

The rough weather returned by nightfall, and the forecast for the next few days gave cloudy conditions with more rain to come. Our visit to Tiga would have to wait: at 9 30 on Tuesday morning we set sail for Kota Kinabalu. With 10 knots of wind we made good speed (average 5 knots) with no engine. The swell was quite strong by midday and we had all the sails out. I was alarmed to hear Paul calling me at one point but I couldn’t see him anywhere…until I looked up and spotted him halfway up the mast sorting out a halyard while the boat was swaying from side to side! KK began to emerge in the distance and as the resort grew closer I could see we would be entering an opulent, upmarket place. We had the luxury of three marina staff to guide us into our berth.

The day got better when we checked in at the office and I discovered that two parcels of Christmas presents had arrived for me; one from England and one from Italy. First impressions of our new ‘home’ were favourable. Everyone we met was friendly, the clubhouse seemed spotlessly clean and tastefully furnished, adorned with festive decorations, twinkling lights and an enormous Christmas tree in the lobby.

What’s more there was a nice-looking bar in the clubhouse opposite the marina. We had a light meal there in the evening, with a view of the boats and the ocean beyond. We didn’t have long for relaxing however. We needed provisions, so took a walk to the nearest mall. It was too dark by then to take in much of the area. Sutera Resort is a large, sprawling complex with two large hotels as well as the marina and country club. We passed the golf club on the way and got a sense of how vast the resort is. The fifteen minute walk to the mall was along a shared pedestrian/cycle path with a river on one side and the wide main road on the other. The mall was fairly new and festooned with Christmas lights and trees both inside and out. It was predictably busy with Christmas shoppers but we only needed a few basic things from the supermarket so didn’t linger long.

Another place, another checking in process to be undertaken. The buildings we needed to visit were too far away to cycle to so we called a Grab taxi to take us on the 20 mile journey to the harbour master. During the ride we became more aware of just how big KK is. Sabah’s capital is a popular destination due to its proximity to beautiful islands and rainforests as well as the challenge of climbing Mount Kinabalu. According to Wikitravel its recent growth is due to its being a major transportation and manufacturing hub and a growing port, the increase in package tourism and it’s a major gateway into Sabah and East Malaysia. Little wonder then that land has had to be reclaimed from the sea, and adjacent districts have been urbanised to accommodate such growth.  Apparently most of the town was destroyed by bombing during World War 2, so it wasn’t surprising that many of the buildings are modern and that the construction of plush resorts, malls and hotels is ongoing.

When we arrived at the out of the way harbour master’s location we thought we may as well ask the driver to wait so that he could then take us back into town to immigration. Considering there was no one else being processed, it all took a lot longer than I expected and I kept popping out to assure the driver that we wouldn’t be much longer. He didn’t seem to mind because he’d made a friend of the security guy in the meantime, who was helpfully giving him directions to the immigration building. Unfortunately there was a difference of opinion regarding its location when Paul came out and there followed much discussion about routes, a lot of poring over maps, and GPS addresses, none of which was helped by the language barrier.

We had an extended drive around the city centre with several wrong turnings – the driver insisting his way was correct and Paul saying it wasn’t. We finally got him to agree to drop us where Paul wanted and gave him extra for the time it all took. Of the three of us, I’m not sure who was more relieved the journey was over! Need I say that Paul was right! We were dealt with quickly and were then free to have a walk along the waterfront. The boardwalk is lined with cafes and food stalls and is a vibrant, busy promenade. Several fishing boats were anchored in the water, along with a couple of cruising yachts. We intended getting a shuttle bus back to the resort but there was a bit of a wait until it was due and it was very hot so we sat in one of the cafes to have a drink. Despite an extensive drinks menu, which included ‘mocktails’ and a variety of fresh fruit juices, everything we asked for was met with the response ‘no have any’ until in the end we settled for two cokes (they didn’t have diet cokes).

Our first cycle ride was hair-raising (for me anyway). There is a lot more traffic than in Miri or Labuan, and due to all the building going on some lanes were closed off, thus funnelling traffic into one narrow one. I kept as close to Paul as I could and hoped the speeding cars would avoid us. We left the main road to take a closer look at the waterfront on the way to the market. Here, we had to push our bikes along the boardwalk because it was so crowded. We were stared at and greeted a lot by adults and children alike, and I’ve come to think that it’s not so much the bikes that attract attention, it’s simply that they like seeing foreigners in the area. What’s nice is that so many shout out ‘welcome to Borneo/Sabah/KK’, while the children are keen to practise their English phrases.  The market was a lively and – it has to be said – smelly place. The smell of Durian, barbecued meat from the food vendors, and ripe pineapples and coconuts mingle with the overpowering odour of tiny dried silvery fish. Outdoor markets, supermarkets and convenience stores all display them in large uncovered tubs. I think they are used as a base for stock for flavouring all kinds of dishes and it’s a smell I’ve come to abhor. I actually prefer the smell in the fresh fish market and that is strong enough! KK’s central market is huge, and it’s impossible not to be fascinated by the range of stuff on offer. The stall owners on the road side of the market were very keen for Paul to buy some ‘genuine’ Rayban sunglasses, cartons of cigarettes or leather belts. That these belts were the real deal was proved to him by the action of lighting it with a cigarette lighter to show that it doesn’t catch fire!

On into the hub of KK again and we now had more time to browse the malls, which wasn’t as boring as it sounds because the Christmas displays and decorations were really worth seeing. Virtually every shop was ‘trimmed up’ to some degree, and some of the staff were sporting Christmas hats and flashing badges. It all combined to inspire us to buy a little blue tree for the boat.

The next few days were spent getting ready for Christmas. Our Christmas dinner would be a more toned down affair than the usual huge feast at home because we had booked a table at the marina club’s Christmas Eve buffet dinner. Old habits die hard, however and I couldn’t resist buying a few traditional festive foods and even made some mince pies using readymade puff pastry and the most expensive jar of mincemeat I’ve ever bought.

The buffet was worth the money. The food was well-presented and delicious, and there was plenty of it! We could eat as much as we liked and with so much to try, even for vegans 🙂  We made the most of it. Both of us went up for more…several times. Carol singers appeared and lined the staircase to perform a range of seasonal songs while we ate. The evening was topped with the wonderful spectacle of a waving Santa and his dancing elves arriving on a boat cruising down the centre of the marina, to the accompaniment of Bruce Springsteen singing ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’. The children loved it, naturally and were treated to a goodie bag and a personal chat with Santa. The little festive gang then went round all the tables to pose for a picture with the diners. How could we refuse Santa!

 

Christmas Day

I did two things I’ve never done before on Christmas Day. The first was to go for a morning swim in one of the open air pools, and the second was to go for an evening bike ride. I have to confess it felt nothing like Christmas during any part of the day (apart from opening our presents in the morning) but that was fine.  The waterfront, where we ended up on the bikes just as the sun was setting, was cool after the humidity of the day. The town was busy and most of the shops and cafes were open but there was less traffic and we cycled around to work up an appetite before returning to the marina. We had nut roast (Paul also had some ham) with most of the trimmings apart from parsnips, sprouts and stuffing. I had remembered to bring gravy with me because that’s tricky to find here, too. I’ve since seen parsnips and sprouts on sale but not stuffing. Most of the supermarkets had turkeys in the freezer departments, but there were no Christmas puddings either, even in the imported goods sections. We finished the day in the marina bar where I’d hoped to get a gin and tonic as it was Christmas. Alas, the request was met with a ‘no have any’, but the wine was nice.

Boxing Day was spent having a good long walk around the resort’s hotels and facilities (pics below). The idea behind this was to check out the spa in the Magellan Hotel. My Christmas present from Paul was a massage of my choice and we set off to see what they had to offer, looking at the cafes, pools and shops on the way. All the treatments on the spa’s menu were tempting but I chose the one that combined the best of all of them and booked it for the next day. Needless to say it was wonderful. It lasted an hour and 20 minutes and I would happily have one every day if I could.

The days in Sutera Harbour post-Christmas have been wonderfully relaxing. We’ve done pretty much exactly what we want in beautiful surroundings and have met some nice people. Our neighbours, John and Kay invited us to join them and their friends for New Year’s Eve for some food and drinks on their boat and we all went to the end of the pontoon to watch the firework display from the beach bar party at midnight. As I type this, it’s almost time for me to return to the UK for six weeks to catch up with friends and family. When I return at the end of February, we will be preparing for the passage to The Philippines and then journeying on to Japan for the rally there. The Pacific crossing to North America follows that and it will be Christmas 2018 before we go home again. The pictures below show some of the places and things we’ve enjoyed in the weeks after Christmas.

Images from Tanjung Aru Beach below

Sabah Museum

 

 

 

 

Our bikes were stowed, all other departure prep was complete, and I steered us out of Labuan Marina early on a rainy mid-December morning. We were on our way to Brunei again. Muara, means ‘estuary’ in Malay and is located in Brunei’s northernmost district.  This visit would enable us to get another 3 month Malaysian visa once we had checked in and out. After anchoring opposite the ferry terminal, our first task was to gather up all the relevant papers and documents ready for presenting to the authorities. It was just after midday by then and in a lull from the rain, it was inevitably hot and humid. The place was eerily quiet and I hadn’t seen anyone moving around on the nondescript coastline during our approach. I had read more about Brunei’s customs and culture during the journey as there was a possibility we might stay long enough to explore the town. Reading from another very out of date travel guide (Lonely Planet Guide, 2001), acquired from the ‘book swap’ facility in Labuan Marina I learned that:

• it is not customary to shake hands with people of the opposite sex (the action requires you to lightly touch the other hand and then bring your hands closely to your chest)
• casual touching in public is frowned upon
• pointing must be done with the thumb, not the forefinger
• special officers prowl the streets after dark looking for unmarried couples standing or sitting too close to each other
• and, of course there is a requirement to dress respectably.

The risk of committing one or more of those social faux pas made me slightly nervous, although the concluding sentence provided some reassurance: ‘Bruneians are generally reserved in public and are polite and hospitable, and not all are as zealous as the government’.  I’m not sure if all of that still applies, but it’s still a fact that Brunei’s citizens enjoy enviable patronage. There are pensions for all, free medical care, free schooling, free sport and leisure centres, cheap loans, subsidies for costly purchases, short working weeks, no taxes and a high minimum wage. The sale of alcohol is still banned, however.

Suitably attired, we got in the dinghy and set off towards officialdom. We tied up at the bottom of a flight of steps, watched by a couple of uniformed guys on the jetty above. We entered a cool, quiet and seemingly empty building, with a sign welcoming visitors to Brunei, along with one displaying the penalties for drug smuggling – death being one of them. There was a man sitting in a tiny office behind a glassed-off partition and Paul had to bend down in order to talk to him.

He told us that we would need to get cleared by the Health Officer first. No one was in that office when we knocked on the door, so we walked on and found the immigration office. The smell of food hit us when the door was opened in response to our knock and we could see a group of women sitting around a table tucking into what looked like a substantial feast. We were told that we would have to wait for the Health Officer to return before we could do anything else, and helpfully suggested we could fill in our immigration forms to pass the time. This filled ten minutes of the ensuing two-hour wait in the building, during which I read several chapters of my book, befriended the cat that was wandering around, went outside to see if anything was happening out there, then back inside to see if anyone had turned up, and played several moves on ‘words with friends’.

The place only sprang to life when the ferry was due and we realised we should have timed our arrival with that. The Health Officer appeared and dealt with us promptly (although she seemed to think we should have brought our own carbon paper to get duplicates of the paperwork – how remiss of us). At customs, we were asked by a rather dour man if we had alcohol on board and Paul told him we had two litres of wine. This caused a flash of irritation followed by a stern command to fill in a form to declare it. My heart was in my mouth at the thought that he might come over to inspect us! I was glad to exit that building, and once back on the boat we weighed anchor and motored on under the bridge – currently still under construction – with me steering I’m proud to declare.  We anchored opposite the Yacht Club, which we’d been told served good food but neither of us felt inclined to go ashore. My impression of Brunei had got off to a less than positive start, and the town itself didn’t look very appealing. It didn’t take us long to come to a decision to check out the following day and head towards the Klias River.

It rained all through the night and was still pelting down at 8am when we made ready to return to the ferry terminal for more paper pushing. It had all but stopped by the time we anchored in the same spot as the previous day. The checking out process was the usual chaotic confusion involving conflicting instructions, being passed from one place to another, being told that we should have done this or that first and confused looks from staff examining the stamped paperwork we had obtained the previous day. At one point we sat on some seats in a huge empty room while waiting for the immigration lady to appear, and a lady washing the spotlessly clean floor asked if we’d mind moving somewhere else because she needed access to the part we were occupying!  The Harbour Master, behind the Perspex in the tiny office proved to be the most helpful, advising Paul what to do and say, and he smiled a lot too. Finally, once we were cleared and back on Sister Midnight, Paul called Port Control to inform them we were leaving and was reprimanded for being anchored in the way of the ferry’s route. It was definitely time to go. I took us out of the bay and into a sea heavy with swell. Rocking from side to side, it was tricky to keep the course. The autohelm did a grand job of staying on the track, though and took us most of the way to Klias. The water got shallower as we neared the entrance around 4 o’clock. We anchored in 6 metres of water, with a long, stilted coastal village on one side of us and mangroves on the other.

The cruising notes Paul used to get us here stated that we would quite likely get bitten by mosquitoes, and that we should expect nightly visits from flying ants. We lit an anti-mosquito coil in the cockpit to deter them. These round devices give off a pungent, incense-like smell and they seem to work well, although the ants weren’t too bothered by it. As it grew dark we could hear the mullah from the stilted village preaching earnestly over the mosque’s loudspeakers but apart from him it was blissfully quiet: a state I would come to appreciate more and more during our days on the beautiful Klias River.

The River Klias

Gentle rocking ensured a restful night’s sleep and since we were in no great hurry to leave, we had a leisurely morning making the most of the internet in case reception was poor further on upriver. It wasn’t until 11 that I steered us around the island so that we were pointing in the right direction for the river trip. Initially, the water was alarmingly (for me) shallow but thankfully it didn’t go below 2.9 metres. The water was very still and brown in colour and I saw a few fish jumping (none of them were tempted by the lures Paul put out). It was humid on this overcast afternoon – hot when the sun broke through the clouds beaming straight into the cockpit at 2pm, forcing us to put cream on our feet and legs. We meandered along the bends of the river through largely unchanging scenery, while I kept my eyes peeled for proboscis monkeys.

Klias National Park is one of only 16 protected areas in Borneo where this endangered species can be seen. Logging, palm oil plantations and hunting pose ongoing threats to their survival but in Malaysia they are protected by a number of conservation laws. The river became gradually narrower and the vegetation on the right hand side of its banks grew taller and thicker. The chirrup of cicadas and bird calls could be heard above the noise of the engine, which was on low revs for our slow journey so as not to disturb the monkeys. Several eagles soared above the treetops and it was while watching them that I caught movement in the trees to my right and was thrilled to spot two monkeys in the branches of a tree on the river’s edge. Their gingery brown colour and distinctive large nose confirmed they were proboscis. Notoriously shy, they weren’t in view for long unfortunately but we hardly took our eyes away from the banks after that. Later, we saw a tree full of them but they were further back and moved far too quickly to capture on film.

The further on we went, the murky water became more still and as afternoon began to turn into evening, it looked and felt terrifically atmospheric and tranquil to be in the heart of such natural surroundings. I couldn’t help but contrast it with the scenes likely to be taking place in Liverpool One in the frenetic build up to Christmas. We crossed paths with a couple of Klias River Tour boats – passengers and crew waving enthusiastically at the sight of at us. It wasn’t long before we reached the place they had clearly come from: a viewing platform with information boards on proboscis monkeys and other wildlife to look out for.  A long, wooden platform had been constructed for people to stand quietly and attempt to spot them in their habitat. We began to see macaque monkeys as dusk fell. These are the more extrovert type and we’ve seen many on our travels. Unlike their more wary cousins, they appear to take pleasure in being seen, and will often approach people if they think they have food on them.

Darkness was fast approaching, rain was beginning to fall and we hadn’t chosen a place to anchor by 5pm. Paul was all for turning back to the viewing platform area but I was worried it would be too dark by the time we reached it. We ploughed on a little further in the fine drizzly rain until we found a suitable spot and dropped anchor in 12 metres of water that was so still there was no need for reversing to dig it in the river bed. Paul took a line ashore in the dinghy, tying it to the trunk of a tree for extra security.

With the engine off and the water so still, the noises of the jungle were clearer than ever. Unfortunately, so was the sound of the traffic from the nearby dual carriageway from the village of Klias. It was hard to tell we were near a village apart from that because we were surrounded by thick mangrove forest. The only other clues were the ‘sunset view’ restaurants and boat jetties set up for the river tours, and these had all closed for the night. Mosquitoes would be rife here, and Paul reminded me that this environment might pose more of a risk of dengue fever… I went below and sought out more insect repellent. After dinner, Paul went above to check on our position and returned with the words ‘we seem to have backed into a tree!’ Branches were indeed touching the stern, poking eerily into the dimly-lit cockpit. Another line needed to be attached, among other tasks to sort it all out, so it was back into the dinghy with a torch for Paul, while I kept a lookout for crocs 😉 Back on board we enjoyed the night-time spectacle of the fireflies, which were like a multitude of little floating stars in the darkness.

I woke up once during the night, alarmed by a noise that was like someone banging on the side of the bow. It turned out to be the anchor, which had accrued a fair bit of the river’s floating debris and was being bashed against the side as the current pulled on it. I didn’t know until later that Paul had got up all through the night to attend to the lines on the river bank, experiencing some challenging moments at times – as described in his blog entry.  The pic below shows him making ready to hack away at the debris around our anchor chain in the morning.

Both of us were up early enough to fully appreciate the beauty of the jungle at sunrise. For a couple of hours we sat drinking coffee and watched and listened as nature came to life around us. The monkeys were still too far away to see properly but we could see them jumping from branch to branch, while the birds communicated to each other in a stereo-like fashion. Now and again a fish jumped in the water. It was wonderful: I felt as far removed from the chaos of Christmas as it was possible to be.

We were ready to leave at 8. Paul undid all the lines, cleared more leaves from them and I stood at the helm, ready to prevent us drifting backwards into the trees. All I needed to do in the event, however was to execute the three-point-turn we’d been practising to manoeuvre us back in the right direction. Soon we were slowly edging our way back down river, watched by a few curious long-tailed macaques. By 9 it was hot, and we hardly needed any power to move along. We let the current take us slowly, with the gear in neutral, ever on the lookout for photo opportunities.

At the observation point we dropped the anchor to have a late breakfast, and to take a closer look at the viewing platform. It was reassuring to read the information boards (pictured below). We didn’t see any of the creatures listed but it was great to stand there in the silence and take some pictures.

Our next anchorage was in a much wider part of the river. As we were now further away from the tourist area, there were fewer boats and it was even more peaceful. The flying ants we’d been warned about came in droves at dusk. They were everywhere! Tiny and harmless, but disconcerting nonetheless to see so many flying, jumping and crawling around us.

Saturday December 16th

Paul got up early to have a morning row in the kayak and when I got up to have a look I could see why he’d felt drawn to do so. It was glorious! Cool, sunny, a clear blue sky, calm water and the only sounds, the jungle chorus emanating from the riverbank’s trees and mangroves – just waiting to be explored.  I stood in the cockpit for a while watching Paul drift in the current on the edge of the mangroves. No wildlife spotted but a real balm to the senses.

He enthused about the detail in the roots and branches of the mangroves and it was good practice in the kayak (something I’ve yet to attempt). We cruised on down the river, stopping at one point to let the current carry us in silence. Monkeys were definitely further back in the forest and we hoped they might venture out if it was quiet. They weren’t to be fooled, however. They simply climbed higher up into the leafy branches of the trees, visible intermittently in the gaps or when they jumped from one tree to another. At 1pm we anchored for the final stop before heading back to the river’s mouth. Paul went for another kayak to check the area and when he returned we both went out in the dinghy so that I could see the mangroves up close. They were well worth seeing. The pics below show better than I can describe what we saw when we took the dinghy along a tributary. The tranquillity and ambience you’ll have to take my word for.

Lots of large, buzzing insects were around and were keen to explore the boat. It was hard to tell if they might sting but I dodged out of their way just in case. It led us to carry out a task that had been on the list for a while: to fix the wire mesh in the windows and hatches. They are virtually insect-proof now.

Our final night on the river was a rainy one but caused a welcome cooler temperature. Our soft drink supply was running low due to the amount of cold cans we got through in the heat of the day. We were up by 7 30 and on our way an hour later. I effected another three-point-turn out of the tight spot while the rain pelted down.  The wet weather continued for the whole passage to the mouth of the river where we anchored just out of the swell. The wind picked up, and combined with the rain it made us feel cold at times – which is a novelty here. We would be heading to Tiga the next day, an island recommended to us by John and Carol in Miri. After that, it would be time for our Christmas in the Tropics in Kota Kinabalu. I had loved the sojourn on the Klias River and even though it was a shame I didn’t manage to get clear picture of the proboscis monkeys I’m glad I saw them, albeit from a distance. Here is what they look like, courtesy of the internet library.

 

 

After almost two months in the marina at Miri, it was time to move on.  We made some good friends there and it’s highly likely we’ll meet up with several of them again. Like us, most of the people we’ve met are long-term travellers so our paths will hopefully cross at some future anchorage or marina. We had heard conflicting views about Labuan from our Miri neighbours. We could expect the marina to be a bit run down said some, while according to others the town doesn’t have much to offer.  One couple had nothing but praise for its good cycling routes, nice fish restaurants and great shopping (they did admit the marina was a bit run down though). I was just eager to get back on the water, with the prospect of new surroundings to look forward to, even if they were likely to be less than salubrious. I felt that we had ‘done’ Miri. Time for a change.

The day before leaving, we checked out of Malaysia via the usual sequence of immigration, customs and harbour master (not ever necessarily or consistently in that order) which thankfully went smoothly and promptly. With just a few more fresh provisions to get and some stowing to do, we were all set for an early departure on the first day of December. I was a bit nervous that everyone would be on the pontoon to wave us off; a situation always guaranteed to make me get flustered and make mistakes. As it turned out, just Ian and Marilyn from the catamaran next door were there to let our lines go because we had said our goodbyes to people the previous evening. We motored out into the bay at 9am with no hassle and were soon experiencing the familiar side-to-side rocking from the swell as we progressed further out.

My sea legs always tend to desert me after a long period on land and I began to feel slightly nauseous when I went below.  It was humid in the cockpit, however so I just sat still up there and zoned in to my latest book-related delight (Audible) while the autohelm took on steering duties.  There were oil rigs and a few industrial boats, but not a lot else to look out for as Miri faded into the distance and the coast of Brunei grew closer. As we neared the river entrance the swell lessened and I began to feel better. The water was murky brown, and even though the depth was as low as 3 metres at times, it wasn’t possible to see the bottom.  We ended up anchoring in 2.5 metres off the coast of Brunei in a place called Belait. Maybe because the word Brunei always makes me think ‘money’, I had the impression that the buildings lining the shore looked opulent, such as you’d see on wealthy parts of coastal Europe. It was a very peaceful spot until the speedboats arrived! These were what Paul described as rich boys’ toys. For most of the late afternoon they raced past and around us at lightning speeds, probably using our boat as a marker, and the noise was like being at a Grand Prix. I knew they wouldn’t be continuing in the dark, though so it wasn’t as irritating as it could have been.

Jerudong was to be our next stop. We planned the route after dinner and discovered it would be an 8 or 9 hour passage. The chart had alarming warnings at various points on the route, such as ‘firing practice area’, ‘reefs’, ‘submerged rocks and pipelines’ but Paul just skirted around them with the cursor and said all would be fine. Anyway we would need to start early so we were on our way before 7am. It was a gorgeous morning, with a lovely cool breeze, and the sun had not long risen as we left the river in 5 metres of calm water.

Further out, it looked a bit choppy so I made coffee before it became too rocky. With mugs of hot coffee, and bananas for breakfast we sat in the cockpit enjoying the breeze. Paul put the main sail up at 8, quickly followed by the headsail, and then a fishing line was put out at the stern. Unfortunately, a ‘huge’ fish grabbed it and he had to watch it all unravel and disappear into the water, complete with the lure. The mission to catch a fish goes on  😉

Jerudong was a strange place. The place we anchored was once destined to be a luxury marina until one of the Brunei princes spent all the country’s money. Work had stopped abruptly and it had an abandoned feel to it – eerie almost. We were the only boat there but would have had to leave if any of the royal family were using the nearby beach. It was gone 3 by then so there was little chance of them turning up. We did have mosquitoes for company later on, though and we both had bites in the morning.

Another early star for the next leg to Keraman. Paul had to fix the deckwash before we left so that he could blast all the mud off the chain with it. It was a shame the wind only allowed us to have the sails up for an hour or so without the engine on. Not only is it more peaceful and economical like that, it also means we don’t get the smell of diesel wafting into the cockpit. By 12 30 we were anchored fairly near to Labuan and were back in Malaysian territory. Due to the sea state we had to move twice before we finally settled. The first time was due to excessive rolling and the second time because Paul discovered the falling tide would cause us to go aground eventually. After that it was ‘as you were’; relaxing in the cockpit, watching the sunset; glass of wine; a good book; ‘words with friends’ games…lovely 🙂

We were in no great rush to leave  in the morning as Labuan is only an hour away from Keraman. However, our sleep patterns seem to have reverted to an ‘early to bed, early to rise’ pattern and we were both up early anyway. This pattern is more suited to the tropical climate and lifestyle, and it’s wonderful to sit in the cockpit in the early morning sun. The approach to the marina at Labuan was very busy with container ships, fishing vessels and passenger ferries vying for position. Once we located the entrance we motored slowly in just before midday.

The sun was scorching hot; I could feel my skin burning despite the liberal amount of protection oil on it.  The heat was the thing that caused me most stress on our first afternoon there. I simply could not get cool even with the canopy up and all the fans on. Paul told me the temperature was in the 40s! I resorted to frequent cold showers but the effect wore off fairly quickly and I was counting the hours until sundown.  We had given away our air conditioning system to John and Carol in Miri because I found it too cold and restrictive. I didn’t like the fact that all the hatches and windows need to be closed when it’s on. Just this once, though I found myself longing for it! The marina itself is ‘ok’, the descriptions of its being a bit run down are accurate but it’s adequate for our needs. We have water and electricity…and duty free shops to explore.

Paul had a chat with Geoff not long after we got there, a friend he’d got to know via email and had finally met in Miri, so he gave us some useful local information.  At 4 o’clock Paul suggested we walk over to the shopping mall to take advantage of its air conditioning. The walk there revealed more of just how run down the marina is. Some of the fingers had broken away from the pontoons and the water is crammed with floating rubbish of all kinds – obviously the ubiquitous plastic bottles and carrier bags, but also several sandals, paint tins and other domestic waste, as Paul showed in his pictures. We passed a nice-looking bar which is part of the luxury hotel next to the marina. Beyond the marina entrance was a park, a busy main road and the huge mall, lined with duty free outlets offering cheap alcohol, chocolate, perfumes etc. We had a quick look but were in no hurry to get anything, just to get cool was enough for me. The mall wasn’t as icy cool as we expected, however because the air conditioning had broken, but it was more bearable than the inside of the boat.  We found the supermarket in the usual location of the basement and picked up a few essentials, then had a walk around to check out the cafes and restaurants but none of them appealed to us. We decided to have a walk into town later. At 7pm it was still hot and humid. The walk took about 30 minutes and it was dark by then so it was hard to get a proper impression of the town but the centre seemed lively with plenty of shops and restaurants. Paul had done some research and found us an Indian restaurant where we enjoyed a delicious curry and (for me) a glass of cold beer.

The following morning it was time to check in to Labuan. Even though it’s part of Malaysia, Sabah is an independent state, so immigration and customs need to be visited. As we’d be staying a week or so, we unpacked the bikes which had been folded and stowed in bags in the quarter berth for the passage to Labuan. It was good to know they can be put away and retrieved with very little hassle. We left early to avoid the heat, knowing that it’s never possible to tell how long the process will take. The morning temperature at 8am was bearable but held the promise of intensifying as the day went on. We passed the big hotel that it was too dark to see properly the previous evening, and cycled down the wide, tree-lined boulevard. It felt great to be back on the bikes. Once again, we were greeted and waved at by several of the people we passed. We didn’t see many other cyclists so maybe bike riding is a bit of a novelty here. Checking in done, we explored the town further and came upon a huge fruit and veg market near the waterfront.

We spent a pleasant hour there selecting fresh produce and looking at the wide range of stuff for sale. The picture shows how massive the place is, and there was more on the floor above, although this was just typical market fare: plastic containers galore, materials, cheap clothes, make up and household goods. Paul found a shop devoted to fishing gear and spent some time inside, debating which products would help get him a fish 😉 On the way back we bought some wine. From the £10 – £12 it cost in Miri, it was a welcome sight to see it with price tags of £5 for the cheapest. Only red wine is available in boxes though, so it would take a few trips to stock up and stash the bottles in our bike baskets.

Later in the evening we cycled to Ramsey Point, a beach and promenade area further along the coast. Here, in 1846, the Sultan of Brunei handed over control of Labuan to the British. Almost a hundred years later, on 10 June 1945 the beach was used to land Allied forces liberating Labuan from the Japanese occupation.  We had a walk around and had a look at the restaurant at the end of the pier where you cook your own food at the table after selecting ingredients from a buffet. People were having great fun on the zip wire attraction that had been set up from the balcony of a high tower, down to the edge of the pier. Shame that it closed before we had a chance to have a go.

Before returning to the boat we stopped at the hotel bar opposite the marina. We had to go through the reception of the plush hotel to get to it and were kindly escorted by one of their smartly-clad staff. Only red wine was available by the glass so I opted for a beer. The lady who took the order urged me to take advantage of the two for one offer that was in operation for that hour. I said I couldn’t manage two but Paul pointed out that we could take the second can back with us.  The pint glass, when it arrived looked more than I could manage so there was no way I would be taking advantage of another one for free. This was another of the bars that could have been anywhere in Europe and I knew that one visit would be enough for us.

Early in the morning we went aground! Or rather, the keel was bouncing on the bottom due to a very low tide at 7am. I knew something was amiss because it felt like were being jerked, as if someone was pulling on our mooring ropes, a most unnerving feeling. It didn’t last long though before the tide began to rise again. In the afternoon we visited Labuan’s botanical gardens. The cycle ride there was lovely, probably one which had led keen cyclists, John and Carol to praise the place. There were one or two steep hills, unlike Miri but it was good exercise and going down them was exhilarating. Pics below of the gardens, which were lush and pretty and provided much needed shade from the sun. I wish there had been a bit more information about the location of the official residence of Labuan’s British Governors. It had been built in 1852 but was destroyed in 1945 during WW2. There were photographs of it but it was hard to determine where it had stood exactly. Apparently, only a tiny fragment of it remains and the grounds were landscaped and converted into a public park in 2001.

Our next cycle ride took us into the town centre early one evening to an Indian ‘café’ we’d looked up online. There had been a heavy, sultry heat all day and I had stayed in the cabin reading and feeling lethargic so I welcomed the prospect of a bike ride. We arrived at the restaurant sweating and thirsty and enjoyed an Indian feast accompanied by icy cold fresh fruit juices in an air conditioned (rather brightly lit) restaurant. As we began to cycle back, the rain started. It got heavier and heavier but we decided to just ride through it and it turned out to be a great experience. That was another enjoyable first for me – cycling in a torrential downpour, splashing through deep puddles while people laughed and waved at us.

For the next few days we continued to add to the wine collection, and also stocked up on cans of soda water and soft drinks. It began to rain more frequently and we got used to jumping up at the first sound of it to close all the hatches and windows. One afternoon, we could hear it pounding on the roof during a visit to the local museum. It had been an interesting hour in there reading about Labuan’s experiences in World War 2 under Japanese occupation. We emerged at about 5pm to witness a spectacular downpour. It was hard to see very far ahead and the sound it made was amazing. This was the NE monsoon making its presence felt. We stood for about 30 minutes watching it, along with a young couple and their little girl as we took shelter under the museum’s covered forecourt. We were amused when as soon as it began to lessen in force, the man walked over to their car, (using the protection of an umbrella) which was parked about 10 steps away from the shelter! Is there something they’re not telling us about the rain here! Anyway, we left at the same time to have another wet ride back to the boat. There was loud thunder all evening and the rain continued throughout the night.

The museum visit had reignited my interest in the Second World War period in this area. There had been photographs and information of The Peace Park, the ‘Surrender Point’ plaque where the Japanese had signed the surrender in 1945, and the field where the war graves are located. When Paul suggested a trip to see these I was all for it. Our original plan had been to hire a car and visit a nearby spa but the rainy weather had put paid to that and I liked the thought of this excursion a lot better anyway.  More steep hills to negotiate but it was a cool day with not much traffic around. The war cemetery was very moving. It’s extremely well kept by The Commonwealth Graves Commission. We spent a long time looking at the messages on the graves’ metal plaques – each one with a different and personal tribute.

From there we went to a hypermarket in our ongoing search for ground coffee and non-dairy spread (so Guardian are we). Paul had a map that informed him where he could get ‘good cheese’ of all things but it didn’t mention coffee and didn’t live up to its promise regarding the cheese. The cheese here is imported obviously and therefore expensive but there was nothing different about it, and we couldn’t find any spread or coffee either. Cycling back in the heat, I thought of the reports of snow, frost, ice and cold winds we’ve been hearing about in Britain and found it hard to imagine after so long away. I still miss the contrast in seasons but at least I’m getting more of a sense of the monsoon season this year because we weren’t in Asia last December.

On Monday December 11th we set off early to go through the checking out process in readiness for the next day’s departure. The rain held off for a little while but it was soon pouring down heavily – too heavy to risk a drenching cycle back. We took shelter in the bakery/coffee shop where we buy our bread and I had my first cup of Malaysian ‘kopi’. I requested black, no sugar but the concept of anything without sugar amazes people here. I got it sugarless but the lady brought it over and pointed to the bowl of sugar on the table if I changed my mind. It looked like coffee and it was hot but the resemblance ended there. I don’t think I’ll order another one. We sat there and played ‘words with friends’ and waited and waited but the rain fell relentlessly. It was lunchtime by then and the aromas coming from  the food made us hungry. It seems to be a popular place with office workers who were loading their plates with noodles and rice and fried eggs and tofu and veg and chicken from the hot buffet. We caved in, got ourselves a plate and chose a selection of the dishes which you could heap on a plate for as little as £1.50, and it was gorgeous. One more trip to buy wine and chocolate from the duty free mall and we were ready to leave Labuan in the morning. Our next destination would be Muara and then a much-anticipated trip up the Klias River to see the rare Proboscis monkeys.

Kathy

 

 

 

 

November began pretty much as October ended here in Miri. I can’t say that I missed the sound of the bangs, whistles and explosions of fireworks that people were complaining about on social media during the build up to the 5th. Our peaceful time is our own here, and we often find ourselves asking what day it is. There is a sense that Christmas is coming in some of the shops and supermarkets but nothing like the scale back home. It feels very strange, having entered a cool mall from the blazing heat and humidity outside, to be pushing a trolley in a Malaysian supermarket to the strains of ‘let it snow, let it snow, let it snow’. Paul has made great progress ticking off the list of boat jobs. He began this by cycling to town one morning to buy the necessary tools, paints, brushes and an electric drill and has been getting up early to work on painting the hull and varnishing the cap rail.

We decided we would eat out twice a week because restaurant and cafe prices are so reasonable here. On board we mainly eat salads (which aren’t generally available to order in restaurants), soups, or pasta and noodle dishes. In tropical temperatures, it’s far too hot to have the oven on and for this reason I’ve temporarily stopped baking bread. We found a couple of bakers that produce decent wholemeal loaves with no added sugar, so it makes sense to buy those instead. In the marina park complex we spotted a Tandoori Restaurant that hadn’t long opened for business so we stopped there on impulse one evening on our way back from a shopping trip and the food didn’t disappoint: Tandoori Chicken for Paul and Vegetable Jalfrezi for me with Roti and Naan bread and rice, all for less than £6 complete with drinks! We’re regulars now.

We were invited to another social gathering in the communal area a few days after the Halloween party. The invitation came from a German couple who wanted to show how tasty their sausages are with the inhabitants of the marina – no sniggering at the back there, they were Bratwurst sausages 😉 .  Before that, though we had to go and buy an aluminium pole for the awning in the cockpit. The route to the hardware store took us right through the centre of the Kropok Cemeteries. The Malay/Muslim cemetery and the Chinese cemetery are situated next to each other along the banks of Miri River. With space at a premium, the last major road expansion meant that due to limited space, some of the tombs ended up right on the edge of the road. I wasn’t surprised to learn that the road is reputed to be haunted – although the reported supernatural sightings haven’t been verified, according to Borneo’s Resort City Resource on Miri. I was struck by the rural surroundings we cycled through. The fields, narrow tree-lined lanes and farm houses reminded me of the English countryside.

The pictures below show how Paul transported the lengthy pole back to the marina. I had serious doubts about the wisdom of this method but should have realised Paul had thought it all through. One customer, watching it being affixed to Paul’s bike with cable ties, was sorry that he hadn’t driven his pick-up truck that day – he would have willingly given us a lift back he said, which was very kind of him. My role was to stay behind Paul on my bike as close as I could. We got some very strange looks, and some smiles and waves from drivers and pedestrians especially when they noticed the ‘warning flags’ in the form of a pink carrier bag at one end and a blue T-shirt at the other, but we got it back with no incidents.

Bratwurst sausages weren’t for me obviously, but a feast had been laid on with plenty of other nibbles by the time we made it up to the party. People we had met before from other marinas were there so it was a good chance to catch up and have a drink with them. This is one of the few marinas I have been in that doesn’t have a bar or café, but the communal area with its roomy table and chairs creates a more informal meeting place and people are encouraged to bring their own food and drink.

Work, cleaning and repairs are ongoing and Paul has submitted measurements to Steve at Kiwi plastics’ shop for a new boat canopy which is hopefully being constructed as I type. We moved the boat last week; it’s now on the other side of the pontoon and the port side has been painted and varnished to match the starboard side, which is just as well because today (18th November), a bride and groom posed right in front of it, sitting on the pontoon. Word has got around about Paul’s computer expertise and knowledge of technical systems and he has spent a fair bit of time on neighbouring boats helping them to fix various technical problems. Let’s just say that it hasn’t made him any more enamoured of Microsoft systems 😉 (no one has come to him with Apple problems). Nevertheless, Roger and Lucie from catamaran Catamini opposite us were so impressed and grateful when he managed to resolve the issues on their computer-based navigation system, they invited us on board one evening for a drink and cakes and also treated us to dinner at a local Chinese restaurant the night before they left the marina for Thailand. We got to know them quite well and they passed on some very useful tips and information about places and marinas we plan to visit. We hope to meet up with them on our travels in future.

The car we hired was ready for us the evening before our day trip to Niah Caves so we took advantage of it and went to a supermarket to stock up (well, where else 🙂 ). This one was new to us and had a few things we hadn’t managed to get elsewhere. Unfortunately not sage, though. I never thought finding a particular herb (especially the dried variety) would prove to be so elusive. Every other one from A-Z lined the shelves but not sage. I finally managed to find a jar a few days ago but will be bringing some back from the UK. On the way home we stopped at a vegetarian restaurant called The Healthy Vegetarian – you can see the dishes they offer on the pic below. I still cannot bring myself to try veggie ‘mutton’ ‘spare ribs’ or ‘fish’ along with several other dishes I would never have touched as a meat eater 40 years ago. I chose a bean curd dish and Paul had sweet and sour mushrooms. I’ve got used to having soft drinks when we eat out (it’s a case of having to really) and have become very fond of fresh, iced lime juice, although the request for no added sugar is always met with surprise.

Our intrepid trip to the caves of Niah began slightly later than we intended. The journey would take about 90 minutes, so to make the most of our time there we planned to set off at 8am. When we woke up, however, it was raining very heavily so we waited a bit in case things improved, but it just got heavier. This didn’t bode well for a walk through the jungle: millipedes love wet conditions. I mentioned this to Paul and he remarked that he already anticipated a short enough visit for me to shriek a bit and then we’d return home. I resolved to prove him wrong.

The roads were terrible on the way. Water covered the road surfaces and we drove through several huge puddles and floods. The wipers weren’t up to much, and we felt every bump and lump of the many potholes we went over. It made me realise how much I’ve become used to cars with good suspension. Almost there, and we realised we’d forgotten to bring a torch. This would be an essential item in the caves and rather than risk hoping they would have them on sale there, we took a detour to the nearest town to find a shop. The road we took was in a worse condition than the other one, and at times I thought my head would hit the roof of the car! 45 minutes and two shops later we had acquired two torches from a store in a small town called Bekanu, which in some parts, reminded me of scenes typical of the ones portrayed in ‘Disney-style’ American frontier towns.

The journey back to Niah didn’t do much for the car’s suspension. It sounded so rickety I half expected to see parts of the car fall off with each jolt. Still, at least the rain had stopped by then. With the heavy cloud cover gone our surroundings were lit up by glorious sunshine. We drove through lush forests, swamps, palm oil plantations and flat farmland. Most of the houses we passed were on stilts; some were wooden and flimsy-looking, some had been abandoned altogether and some were plush, newer models made from much sturdier materials. I couldn’t help thinking of the houses in the story of The Three Little Pigs.

We arrived at the park’s headquarters at about 11 and prepared ourselves for the trek. For me, this meant donning socks, trousers with elasticated bottoms, plimsolls, a hat and a shirt. Paul had forgotten his hat, so had to fashion a head covering from my shawl. We both packed insect repellent, water, and a torch each, sprayed ourselves with sun protection, put our sunglasses on and we were ready.  At the ticket office we were given a map of the route and a brief explanation of what to expect. I was so preoccupied with preparing myself for the millipedes and talking myself into being brave, I missed some of what was said, trusting that Paul had it all in hand. We made our way to the river bank where a ferryman would take us the short distance across the muddy water to the beginning of the path. The river looked very atmospheric. I’d just finished Redmond O’Hanlon’s Into the Heart of Borneo and it looked just like scenes he’d described during his travels up the river Rajang in a dugout canoe in the 80s. Our crossing took little more than 30 seconds and cost about 20p each.

Nerves kicking in, I followed Paul along the concrete path that soon turned into the wooden plank walk that would take us all the way to the caves. We’d been told not to touch the wooden handrails because the red ants crawling on it can cause nasty irritation if they bite. It turns out that millipedes like to hang out on the handrails too: 10 minutes later I saw my first one, then another, and another…  From then on I walked in the centre of the path with my head down until we worked out that if Paul walked ahead he could ‘flick them on’ without my seeing them. I could then enjoy the sights and sounds of the jungle all around me. The sounds were like the ones you used to pay to hear on relaxation cds in New Age shops. It was great to stand still and just listen to the jungle chorus, with the knowledge we were actually in the Borneo jungle. We encountered less than a dozen people during the whole excursion so no other noises intruded. On either side of us and below the raised planks, lush jungle vegetation abounded: swampy mud, ferns, moss, and trees of all shapes and sizes, displaying amazing roots and creepers. A few lizards scuttled across the planks but the birds we could hear were too shy to show themselves.

The first part of the walk was mainly level and pleasantly easy-going, but the going was about to get a lot tougher! It became necessary to climb – gently at first, up slopes and then steps, and then more (steeper) steps. We reached Traders’ Cave after about an hour and saw the remnants of bamboo scaffolding where birds’ nest traders had once set up a camp (amazing to think they often climb 200ft high on precarious poles and rope ladders). The cavern beyond this was magnificent and I naively thought we must have reached, or be very near to, the journey’s end. Paul pointed out that we were only at the beginning and there was still a very long way to go. This was the part I’d missed hearing at the ticket office – that the trek was four miles long altogether, so it would obviously be four miles back. It was well past midday by then and all I had on me was a cereal bar! It was going to be a long day.

‘Oh well’, I thought ‘at least The Great Cave won’t have millipedes’. It turned out to contain something far more dangerous! I knew there would be bats (12 species to be exact); bats don’t scare me, I like bats. I knew their droppings, known as guano, was highly-prized as a rich fertiliser so a musty odour was to be expected, and I covered my nose to block that. I also expected the total darkness and we had torches for that. The torchlight revealed some fabulous images: bats hanging from the roof, bats and swiftlets flying around; stalagmites, stalactites and other eye-catching rock formations; ferns, feathers…and spiders! Spiders don’t scare me either but the one I saw was huge and as they seemed to be all around us I was curious to know what they were. I retrieved my little guide book, pointed my torch at it and located the chapter. It informed me that on this part of the trek we should expect to see giant crickets and scorpions in the caves as well as bats and birds. I read that walkers are protected from these poisonous spiders by the raised plank walk above the rocky floor! Well the creatures we could see were ON the plank walk. I told Paul and we managed to reassure ourselves that what we were seeing were, in fact, the giant crickets (they had long antennae waving around on closer inspection). However, despite the slippery surfaces and steep steps and total darkness, and cobwebs and bats swooping just inches above our heads, we increased our walking and clambering speed quite considerably through this part.

The experience reminded me of passing through the tunnel of an undulating fairground ghost train without the carriage or sound effects. Here, though, there were many steps to climb and it was very humid and smelly but it was still thrilling to look around at the striking views. Ropes leading from the swiftlets’ nests were hanging down, and we spotted torch beams from collectors near the top where they would be scraping nests off the ceiling. Apparently the nests, which are believed to have medicinal properties, can fetch up to $1000 (USD) a kilogram! 30 minutes later, we emerged hot, thirsty and tired onto a plateau where a Malay family were seated round a table with the remnants of a picnic. We joined them to rest our legs and exchanged smiles and empathetic pleasantries via gestures and facial expressions. Considering the strenuous footslog we had all undertaken, words weren’t needed to communicate our feelings.

The Painted Cave was the next and final place on the expedition, which was another 30 minute walk on a (thankfully) level plank walk. We were sheltered from the afternoon sun’s rays by the trees but it was still hot, and we were quite high up by now. The cave was welcomingly cool when we got there and three men were sitting on a rock near the fenced off wall. One of them turned out to be a guide and he helpfully explained the exact location of the paintings when he heard us having difficulty seeing them. They are very faint, and it has to be said, lacking in ‘wow’ factor as images go. It was still incredible to think they were created around 1,200 years ago though and to read about the story of their discovery in 1958 by explorer Tom Harrison who found a human skull along with the paintings. I marvelled at how people had got there before all the staircases and paths. We sat for a while to rest in the cool, looking out at the glorious view and pondered on the kind of life that was lived in these caves by the hunter gatherers of 40,000 years ago.

Exhaustion and aching legs were beginning to kick in for me. The very thought of the long trek back was daunting to say the least, but time was getting on and we had a date with the ferryman at 5 30. Needless to say making our way back down the steps, slopes and rocks we’d climbed was very hard on the legs and of course we had to go back through the bat cave where the scorpions lurked. I kept thinking of the little bottle of wine and a packet of crisps waiting for me in the car. We stopped to rest a lot more on the way back, hoping to see some of the birds that were squawking and singing above us but unfortunately they remained elusive. We also heard something very heavy lumbering through the thick trees, cracking twigs and branches as it stepped on them, and waited in silence for a while to see what would emerge but sadly it didn’t appear.

I can honestly say the 6 hours of walking and climbing and clambering on that trek was the most strenuous thing I’ve ever done and I ached for days afterwards but I’m glad I did it. I proved that my phobia doesn’t prevent me from seeing sights that are worthwhile. I think I’ll pass on the Mulu Cave expedition though. Ian, from the boat next to us told us that the millipedes there are a writhing mass in some areas and that there are hundreds of them. Here’s a pic of just one of the little blighters!

While we are just chilling in Miri Marina, the blog will naturally get fewer posts from us. Otherwise it would be akin to social media style hourly updates of things we ate, what time we got up, what we bought in the shops and so on (although there is some of that in this post). I have carried on making notes in diary form, which has proved useful to us when we need to know dates relating to things like car hire, bike buying and when the worst squalls happened but otherwise makes for very mundane reading. This post will condense the few weeks since my last post by narrating the more (hopefully) interesting events and activities of that period.

The days here are largely leisurely and – yes – it is rather wonderful to indulge in such a relaxed way of life. There are no time constraints, no telephones or doorbells ringing, no bills or junk mail, no places to rush to…I could go on. This more flexible manner of living was brought home to me during a recent trip to town when I asked Paul if I had time to browse the bargain books in a department store and he pointed out that I could take all the time I needed since our time was our own.  The bikes have brought about a different kind of freedom. We now tend to shop on a daily or every other day basis. The long, hot walks into town are no more; we simply load our purchases in the baskets Paul fitted on the back of the bikes, or in our rucksacks. I was a bit nervous about cycling to start with. I know the saying ‘it’s like riding a bike’ and that you’re not supposed to lose the ability once learned but it’s been a while since I pedalled any distance and that was on a country cycle track. We collected our bikes from a shop in town and had to ride them back to the marina. After a slightly wobbly start, I gained confidence and found my balance but both of those deserted me once we set out on the main road. The traffic, the noise and my lack of road skills left me feeling vulnerable and I had to get off and push it a couple of times. Away from the busy roads, I found cycling to be pure bliss. The wind as you speed along is cooling, the roads are flat, and people smile and greet you (or maybe they are smirking at our helmets 😉 ). Best of all, there is no risk of coming into direct contact with the centipedes crawling along the pavements. Much as they scare me I do try to avoid squashing them.

One of our first excursions was to the Coco Cabana event space on the waterfront, where the iconic seahorse lighthouse is located. I discovered, when looking at its Facebook page that it only opened in April this year, and was created as a ‘seaside ambience’ from which to view ‘the best sunset in Malaysia’. I’m sure other locations in Malaysia have also laid claim to that boast, but nevertheless it is a great place to watch the ocean from. Tables are set out overlooking the coastline and it’s also possible to sit on the boulders next to the water watching the waves crash onto them while sitting with a drink in the cool evening breeze.

It’s a popular hangout with families and teenagers, who also flock to the regular artistic and cultural events held in the wooden event hall.  One Friday evening I bought some home-made perfume from one of the vendors during an art event there. It was the best copy of the Chanel fragrance (Coco Mademoiselle) I have ever come across. The lady who made it had several other brand name copies on sale and told us how she created them. At only £10 and cruelty-free, I walked away very happy…and smelling nice.

Paul got a puncture in his back tyre on our second day out cycling. Funnily enough we’d gone out specifically to get more cycle accessories such as locks, lights and puncture kits. I stood by and watched, impressed, while he turned it upside down and fixed it on a busy, dusty street. I tried to remember how I used to cope with this situation in my bike-riding days as a teenager. I remember pumping tyres up but the business of inner tubes, glue and patches must have been delegated to my dad or brothers I think. We also got caught in a torrential downpour while riding along a town centre road, becoming soaked through and chilly within seconds. We had to take shelter under the roof of a shopfront until it stopped. Arriving back at the marina feeling damp and still a bit cold, the boat felt wonderfully warm and dry and it seemed an appropriate evening to make sausages, sweet potato mash, mushrooms, fried onions and gravy for dinner.

During the early hours of the morning of Friday 20th October we had the worst storm I have experienced while berthed in a marina. The wind felt frighteningly strong (60 knots we discovered later) and the sheet of heavy rainfall was a sight to see; the marina was completely obscured behind it! Paul went out in it to check the bikes and to tie anything down that was likely to blow away. One gust was so fierce and noisy during its build up and so strong when it hit the boat, it made me squeal in alarm. We later found out that it was the worst weather anyone local could remember and there was a fair bit of damage around to testify to its severity. The worst of this was, as Paul related in his post, the sentry box complete with sentry inside that blew across the marina forecourt. Apart from being literally shook up, he was thankfully unharmed. There was another powerful storm early the following afternoon, with a wind strong enough to cause some concern that the boat in the berth opposite would break its mooring ropes and hurl into us. Marina staff came and secured it just in case. We sat it out in the cabin for the whole day, preferring to stay onboard even when things settled down later on. The boat was rocking due to the combination of the big waves caused by the previous night’s storm and the powerful gusts. It had caused a fair bit of debris to scatter around the car park: broken glass, roof tiles, tree branches and building materials. Paul pointed out a house that had collapsed just over the water when trees had blown on top of it.  On our way to Miri on the bikes, we cycled through the park by the promenade and saw several trees that had either been uprooted completely or pushed almost horizontal. Meanwhile, the waves looked as if they were reddish brown in colour as they crashed on the beach, possibly due to algae having been whipped up by the storm.

One of the more beneficial (for us anyway) consequences of the gales was that a kayak belonging to a neighbouring yacht blew away, leaving the couple with only one. Paul heard them deciding to dump or sell the remaining one since they didn’t really use them any more, and as he’s been intending to buy one, he bought it off them for a bargain price. So now we have a kayak to add to our growing lists of accessories. It’s very smart, and Paul enjoyed taking it out for a test ride in the marina. I suspect it’s another activity that looks easier than it actually is for me to do, a fact I discovered when I tried to windsurf once. I’ve been promised a lesson in kayaking anyway so we shall see.

I got on with making another batch of bread dough while Paul was kayaking and battled with a different kind of challenge. Using the other bag of flour we’d chosen from Bakery Ingredients, I tipped it on to the tray while I got the other ingredients ready. I made a well in the flour and cursed when I spotted a fly that must have landed on the pile. I went to shoo it off and realised that it wasn’t a fly: it was a weevil, and it wasn’t alone! These pesky things are a fact of life here in The Tropics. There is a choice to be made on discovering them. Throw your hands up in horror and chuck the product away, as we have indeed done before, or deal with them by sieving the flour and using it as normal. I did a bit of research on the net and discovered they are harmless (as we’d already guessed) and that most grain products have them. I mustered up my courage and dealt with them. I can’t say I’m happy about the situation. I’ve found them in biscuits, nuts, breadcrumbs and packet mixes. Depending on the product and the amount I either throw it or use it, but we have discovered that putting the bags in the freezer for a few days and then storing them in the fridge is an effective way of dealing with the problem. Anyway we have had no ill effects, the bread was made and eaten – weevil free and I discovered a core of bravery I didn’t know I had 😉 .

One afternoon in Miri we found ourselves near the bar where we’d been told all the ex-pats go to meet and socialise. Called The Ming Café, it’s on the corner of a busy street in the centre where lots of hotels and hostels are located. I was curious to see if they sold wine since it is so popular with foreigners so we parked the bikes near a table by the pavement and sat down in the busy bar. I knew it wouldn’t be Paul’s favourite type of place. It had screens showing sport, signs advertising all-day breakfasts, soccer matches, beer by the bucket and a wide range of imaginatively named cocktails (pictured below). They did serve wine by the glass, however – with soda too, so we had a drink there, but didn’t fancy ordering from a menu offering burgers, sausage sandwiches, potato wedges and mixed grill. I quite liked it in there though – it was lively, the music was good and it’s a great place to sit and people watch.

It was time for a wine run on Monday (23rd). It looked like the glass I’d had in the Ming Cafe would be my last for a while if I didn’t restock.  I didn’t want to have to pay the hiked up prices for a bottle from our regular supermarket, so we returned to Merdeka Mall, where it’s less expensive.  It’s a bit too far to cycle and we found it cheaper and more convenient to use ‘Grab’ taxis for both journeys. The wine worked out at about £12 a bottle – still pricey but better than £17.  With my indulgence catered for, Paul cycled off early to get his the next morning; a fresh fish from the town market in Miri (the type of fish he’d like to catch one day).  Each morning, just as dawn breaks we get visited by several little birds chirping and flying around on deck. I can see them through the hatch above the V berth and there’s often quite a few of them near the mast. Paul was concerned that they might be nesting but it seems they just like paying a morning visit – so much so that when Paul returned from market with his fish, one of them was flying around in the cabin! It beat a hasty retreat soon enough but I don’t know how long it had been inside while I was sleeping.

Other visitors to our pontoon, not quite as regular as the birds are ‘just married’, or about to be married, couples, complete with a photographer and dresser, whose main job appears to be to arrange the bridal dress and veil in ‘natural’ flowing poses by throwing the material up in the air and letting the wind catch it. It looks likely that Sister Midnight will be in the background of many a glossy wedding album, and we have often had to either wait or take a detour while all the snapping is going on. It’s quite interesting to watch all the preparations and Paul is keen for the boat to look its best for its backdrop role. He has been busy painting, varnishing and cleaning the starboard side all week; getting up early to make the most of the coolest part of the day. It’s looking good, especially the varnished wood gleaming in the sunlight. The port side will need doing soon in order to preserve symmetry, which means moving the boat around for access to it. We will literally have a change of scene when that happens ;).

Last night being Halloween we went to the party organised by Brian and Glee further down the pontoon. Our contribution to the victuals was a pumpkin jack o’ lantern carved by Paul and lit using one of our led bike lights because we’d forgotten to get tea lights. We also took some chocolate vermicelli ball cakes and hoped these offerings would make up for our choosing not to dress up in fancy dress (I know…#partypoopers). There was a very impressive array of food set out on the table and all the usual spooky decorations, masks, and lanterns hanging up. Party games and dancing were also successfully avoided by us but we enjoyed ourselves just the same. The atmosphere was great, and I have always preferred watching people dance to doing it myself. Brian passed on some useful tips about Labuan and Kota Kinabulu (popularly known as KK). Both of those places are on the agenda for visits later this month. Before that, though we intend to have a look at the nearby Niah Caves, where we will see the intriguing sight of relics from the cave dwellers of 40,000 years ago. Images below are from the party and from some of our daily bike rides.